


Follia d'amore

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exchange Student AU, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Pining, Slow Burn, Summer Romance, apricots, how have I not tagged that here yet wt actual f, i mean what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: On summer break before college, Prompto ventures off to the scenic Italian archipelago of Accordo to attend the local language school. The Amicitias have graciously offered to host him during his stay — and it seems he might be settling in nicely.That is, until Gladiolus comes into the picture. Passionate and brash, Gladiolus is everything Prompto isn't — and that might just be why he's falling so hard.Summer romances aren't meant to last... Are they?





	1. Chapter 1

The sweet, intoxicating aroma of herbs and spices hits Prompto first as he walks into the kitchen; next to hit him is the heat. In spite of the sweltering day, of the sun beating down on the house, Mrs. Amicitia has something cooking in the oven. The room feels like a sauna.

Whatever’s cooking, it smells fantastic: he can catch hints of oregano and garlic, but there are other scents he can’t quite pick out. When he had asked Mrs. Amicitia about it, she had only told him — elusively — that it was a family recipe.

He refills his lemonade from a pitcher in the refrigerator and drops a generous helping of ice into the liquid, watching it swirl around within the glass. It’s tempting to down the whole thing in one go, as hot as it is today, but he resists the urge and brings the drink out with him, setting it on the table on the veranda where he’s been working for the past hour.

It seems like the ultimate torture to have actual _assignments_ to do on summer vacation, especially when he just finished high school for good, but the language school only hosts one day of classes a week, and the rest is all about independent study.

There’s a song playing on the little portable radio he salvaged from Cor’s workshop to bring with him. It’s all in Italian, so he can pick out barely any of the words, but it’s played often enough here that he finds himself humming the tune. He thinks it might be something about love.

The assignment he’s working through is basic enough — translating simple words and phrases back and forth between English and Italian. When Iris, his hosts’ thirteen-year-old daughter, had remarked that learning how to say ‘green apples’ and ask ‘where is the library?’ hadn’t seemed like much fun, he’d merely given a meek laugh.

So maybe there are better ways he’d like to spend his vacation before college starts up, but he can’t even complain; this trip had been as much his own idea as Cor’s. If homework is the price he has to pay to spend all summer in sunny Accordo, he figures it’s a fair trade.

He takes a sip of his drink before pressing the glass to his forehead, puffing out a breath. It’s _hot_ here, and it’s only June. He can’t even imagine how he’ll cope when summer _really_ hits.

Somewhere nearby, he hears a car door slam; reflexively his ears pick up and he can hear the sound of two men’s voices speaking in the local dialect, Italian flavoured with Latin. They’re both gruff and loud, and he recognises only one of them: Clarus Amicitia, the patriarch of his host family. The other sounds unfamiliar.

Curiosity almost sends him towards the archway that leads around to the front of the house, but he resists the urge. Probably just one of Clarus’s business contacts, of which there are so many. A couple days ago they entertained one such contact over dinner; even though Prompto had been invited, he took every excuse to hide out in his room instead.

He hears the voices fade out as they enter the house. Moments later, Clarus’s brisk tone calls out his wife’s name, then his daughter’s, with no response.

Clarus pops his head out through the door from the kitchen; he looks unflustered by the sun, although Prompto is surprised to see him in a casual polo shirt and chinos, rather than his usual work attire.

‘Hello, Prompto,’ he says. ‘Is Alessia home?’

Prompto shakes his head and pushes his hair out of his face, the better to look at the man.

‘She brought Iris to the store,’ he says. ‘She said she needed almonds. For the, uh. Gratina?’

 _‘Granita,’_ a voice supplies. ‘My favourite.’

It’s not Clarus — rather it comes from a young man, maybe in his early twenties, with long, dark hair tied loosely back behind his head. As he steps out around Clarus, Prompto can do little more than gape: he’s tall and broad, perhaps even wider in the shoulders than Clarus, and side by side there’s no mistaking that this man is Clarus’s son.

He wears a tank, showing off a stark tattoo in black ink, covering most of his shoulders and arms; he catches Prompto staring, and for a moment a little smirk twists the corner of his mouth.

‘Gladio,’ Clarus says. ‘This is Prompto, the student from America. Prompto — my son, Gladiolus.’

Prompto wonders what the protocol is here — if he should get up and shake Gladiolus’s hand, if it’ll lead to the cheek-kiss that’s so common here, yet Prompto _still_ isn’t used to — but Clarus’s son saves him the embarrassment by waving casually, then turning to address his father in Accordan.

‘English, Gladio,’ Clarus says, with a patient smile. ‘If Iris can do it while Prompto is here, you can too.’

Gladiolus throws his eyes up skyward.

‘I’m going to change out of my sweaty clothes,’ he says pointedly. ‘If that’s okay with _both of you.’_

As he leaves with a wry grin, Prompto can’t help but think he likes the guy.

‘Can I help?’ Clarus asks once Gladiolus is gone, gesturing to the work on the table in front of Prompto.

Prompto shakes his head.

‘It’s pretty easy,’ he says with a shrug. ‘But… I’ll probably hold you to that soon. Our instructor said we’re going to be reading literature next month.’

Clarus smirks, like he knows just what a tall order that will be.

 _‘In bocca al lupo,’_ he says. ‘Good luck.’

* * *

Gladiolus joins them for dinner; they all eat out on the patio while the setting sun turns everything to gold. From what Prompto can tell, Gladiolus just returned from a trip to Germany with some friends, although the conversation switches so quickly from English to rapidfire Accordan that he can’t quite keep up.

‘So you came here to learn Italian,’ Gladiolus says, as Clarus and Iris disappear to serve dessert. ‘No offense, but why didn’t you go somewhere they actually speak it?’

_‘Gladio…’_

The warning tone comes from Alessia, his mother; when Prompto hazards a glance in her direction she’s watching Gladiolus with some amusement.

‘What?’ Gladiolus protests, throwing his hands up. ‘Everybody knows they have a _thing_ about the mainland here.’

He descends into muttering in Accordan; while Prompto can’t understand it, he gets the gist of it.

‘My dad’s side of the family is from Italy,’ Prompto says. ‘My, uh, uncle lived here. I guess he knew Clarus way back when.’

Alessia nods in agreement and busies herself with rearranging her glasses of water and wine respectively.

‘Clarus used to watch him when he was little,’ she says. ‘Cor was the cutest little baby. Chubby.’

Prompto snorts in spite of himself.

‘You knew him too?

‘My parents were childhood sweethearts,’ Gladiolus interjects. He pauses and takes a sip of wine, tapping the glass with his thumb. ‘S’pretty common in little towns like ours.’

It’s a nice thought, in a way; Prompto smiles to himself as he imagines finding love with someone he’s known all his life. There had been a time, a few years back, when he had been so sure that he and Noct would wind up together — and they had shared a few stolen kisses as timid fourteen-year-olds, only to realise that perhaps they were better off as best friends.

‘Gladiolus swore off marriage when he was six years old,’ Alessia says. ‘He told me, _“Mamma,_ if I ever get married I have to move out and you can’t look after me any more.” He kept true to his word so far, at least.’

There’s heat in Gladiolus’s cheeks, and when Prompto looks up at him he won’t quite meet his eye. It’s hard to imagine — a big, strong guy like him, a mama’s boy.

Gladiolus clears his throat gruffly and pushes himself up from the table.

‘I should see if they need my help.’

When the trio returns, it’s with an assortment of dishes and coffee, and it all smells and looks so good Prompto’s mouth starts to water. This is the _granita_ Gladiolus mentioned, which seems like some sort of sorbet — although instead of being flavoured with lemon or strawberry like the stuff back home, when he tries it it’s got the subtler taste of almonds.

Gladiolus finishes his first, with Iris close behind; they’re promptly given second helpings.

All Prompto can think, as he leans back in his seat and soaks in the cool evening breeze that has _finally_ broken some of the day’s heat, is that there’s a very particular word for moments like this. He read it in a book once when he was young, and didn’t understand what it meant; he remembers asking his mom, and she had struggled to get the exact meaning.

 _Idyllic._ He thinks he understands it now.

* * *

Prompto finds himself restless as the evening draws to a close. Even with his belly full of good food and drink — which would normally make him drowsy — he can’t quite seem to sit still, nor can he focus enough to work on his assignment.

He sets off for a walk without really meaning to; one minute he’s wandering aimlessly through the house to see if anybody is about, then he’s pulling on his shoes at the front door. He has his own key, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting back in, and the Amicitias don’t mind him coming and going as he pleases as long as he’s quiet.

It’s dark out — darker than it would be back home at this hour — and the skies are so crisp and clear that he can see the stars. He knows that one train ride over, the city of Altissia will not be treated to such a sight, what with the bright lights and splendour rendering the sky a murky grey.

He’s glad, not for the first time, that the town his host family lives in is small enough to find his way around with ease. There’s not much here for young people to occupy themselves with, and the only nightlife to speak of comes in the form of a handful of pubs, but he doesn’t mind. He’s never been one for crazy nights out.

His wandering takes him across the river, and through the adjacent piazza at the centre of the town. For a while he just wanders the place, looking at the sculptures and the fountain adorning it. He makes a mental note to bring his camera next time so he can capture the place at night, then moves on.

He thinks his mom would love this place. His parents met while she was studying fine art in Milan and his father had returned to Italy to visit family. They had spent their honeymoon in Sicily, probably in a quiet, romantic little town like this one.

He returns to the river and stands at the wall alongside it awhile, watching the way the moonlight reflects off the surface of the water. He’s still got _go to the beach_ on his bucket list; maybe he can convince Iris to go along with him. For now, the soothing lapping sound of the river is enough.

Slowly, steadily, he realises he’s ready to go back, the restlessness gone from his bones.

There are lights on in the house when he gets home; still he’s quiet as a mouse as he lets himself in and slips out of his shoes. He’s a little hungry now but he doesn’t feel quite settled in enough to go raid the fridge, so he sets off for his room.

They don’t really have homes like this, where he lives — an entire house all for one family, with three floors and a yard in the front and a patio in back. He had dreaded his first trip all the way up to the top floor when he had first arrived, lugging all his things behind him; now he’s used to it, and he kind of likes being nestled away in a quiet corner of the house, where he doesn’t have to worry about bothering anybody.

He even has his own private bathroom up here — sort of. Gladiolus’s room is on the same floor, and while it had been empty for the first week of his stay, the door is open now and light pours out onto the landing. The bathroom door is closed, the sound of running water coming from within.

The privacy was nice, while it lasted, but maybe he’ll get lucky; maybe Gladiolus won’t be the sort of asshole meathead who plays loud music and stomps around on the old, creaky wooden floors like there’s nobody else home. Prompto isn’t holding his breath.

He’s getting undressed when he feels the tug, low within his belly, and knows that if he doesn’t pee soon he’s going to explode. Gladiolus is still in the bathroom. _Great._

He spends the next while trying to take his mind off it. When that doesn’t work, he paces. Eventually the repetitive sound of his own footsteps only makes it _worse._

There are other bathrooms downstairs, he remembers — the main one on the floor below, and a water closet on the first floor. It’s worth running the risk of bumping into one of the Amicitias in his jammies if it means he doesn’t literally pee himself.

Opening the door, he tries to walk as quickly as he can without effectively sprinting — and then the bathroom door opens, and Gladiolus’s bulky figure suddenly fills the hallway, steam swirling around him. With only a towel wrapped around his waist, Prompto can get a good look at the guy’s tattoo in full, and it’s exactly what he does; his pressing urge to use the bathroom is suddenly forgotten as he studies the stark eagle motif emblazoned across Gladiolus’s skin, the head of it stretching down his chest.

There’s an awkward little moment where it occurs to Prompto, numbly, that he’s staring — and that Gladiolus is staring right back, like both of them have forgotten how to use their legs. Prompto’s still looking at that eagle’s head on his chest, still gaping like an idiot, when a bead of water rolls down from Gladiolus’s hair where it hangs loose and wet at his shoulders. The drop rolls on further downward, between Gladiolus’s pecs and down his toned stomach, until it vanishes into the thatch of thick, dark hair leading under his towel.

‘The bathroom is free,’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto swallows and looks up, dumbly. Gladiolus watches him with narrowed eyes, one hand outstretched to gesture toward the now-vacant room.

The bathroom. Right.

Nervously, Prompto coughs and side-steps around Gladiolus, hurriedly shutting the door behind him.

That was… awkward. _Beyond_ awkward. He just met the guy today and spent ages staring at his body. _Fantastic._

He’s still thinking about it after his bladder is mercifully emptied, after he emerges into the hall to find — thankfully — that Gladiolus’s door is closed. Still thinking about it as he settles into bed and shuts off the light.

What makes it worse? He’s not even thinking about how embarrassing it was any more; he’s thinking about Gladiolus’s body again, and how the light had caught the definition of his arms, of his chest, of his abs. Thinking of that little bead of water and how it had rolled inevitably downwards, dragging Prompto’s glance with it.

Sweat trickles down Prompto's neck. He has a feeling this summer is going to be a long one.


	2. Chapter 2

_ ‘How _ buff are we talking?’

Prompto covers his face with his hands and groans. Leave it to Noct to  _ completely _ lose perspective.

‘Dude,’ he says, dropping his hands and glaring at the screen of his laptop. ‘That’s like. Totally beside the point. I need your  _ help _ here.’

Noct seems to consider Prompto’s dilemma for a moment, leaning back against his pillows. It’s noon back home; he’s still in bed.

‘Is he on Facebook?’

_ ‘Noct,’ _ Prompto groans. ‘Not. Helpful.’

He should have known better than to expect Noctis Caelum to be able to give him meaningful advice, but he’s kind of out of options. The only people he can talk to here are all related to the guy he was gawking at last night.

When he thinks about it, though, he’s kind of curious if Gladiolus  _ is _ on social media. Maybe if he looks the guy up, he can figure out if he’s single. Or even into dudes.

Prompto sighs. Why is he even seriously entertaining the thought of Gladiolus  _ ever _ being interested in him?

‘He’s probably got some smoking hot girlfriend,’ Prompto mutters dejectedly. ‘One who tans in the sun instead of boiling like a lobster.’

On the other end of the connection, Noct bursts into laughter. Also not helpful.

‘I’unno, dude,’ Noct says, once the laughter dies down. ‘I’d love to help, but you know my track record with dating. I thought Luna was into me after she moved here when all she wanted was to know if our school had a gay–straight alliance.’

Prompto snorts in memory of it. Come to think of it, he’d kind of thought Luna was into  _ him, _ too, when it had turned out she was just being nice. They’re both pretty hopeless at this stuff.

‘What are you doing tonight?’ Noct asks, pushing his hair out of his face.

Prompto shrugs.

‘Some of the students from the language school are going to a movie but I don’t know,’ he says. ‘It’s kinda… awkward? The only language we all have in common is Italian and I can barely say “Hello, my name is Prompto”.’

He knows there’ll be a look of disgust on Noct’s face even before he glances up at the screen. It’s not  _ Prompto’s _ fault; maybe Noct can pick up a new language no sweat, but it’s a little bit more difficult for Prompto.

‘Dude,’ Noct says. ‘You’re half-Italian. Your name is  _ literally Latin. _ You should at least try.’

Even as Prompto gives a dramatic sigh, he knows his friend is right — but it seems Noct isn’t done just yet.

‘Maybe you can talk to some of them about it,’ Noctis suggests. ‘See if they have any advice about figuring out if somebody likes you back. Gotta be better than hiding out in your room in case you run into Lover Boy again.’

‘I don’t even know if I like  _ him,’ _ Prompto protests. ‘Just… he’s hot, and I was staring, and now he probably thinks I’m a freak.’

Noct nods his head sympathetically.

‘You kinda are.’

‘You’re so helpful,’ Prompto counters, rolling his eyes. ‘I should probably let you go, huh? Don’t wanna get in the way of you catching up on all the sleep you’ll miss in college.’

‘Oh, right,’ Noct says, perking up. ‘I meant to tell you — I got a job. At the Mocha Joe’s by the church. I start tomorrow.’

It’s not like Noct hasn’t had a job before, but it’s rare for him to keep them down. Usually they interfere too much with quality video game time, or sleep.

‘Try not to burn the place down on your first day, huh?’ Prompto teases.

‘Now who’s helpful?’ Noct protests.

They hang up eventually; it’s nearing dinner time, and Prompto should probably try to get some work done. He’s pretty much already made up his mind about ditching the movie tonight, but Noct put another idea into his head — maybe a part-time job would be a good way of helping him pick up the language  _ and _ keep out of Gladiolus’s path.

He checks online first, but even without the language barrier to contend with, he’s not sure which sites to use. There’s something on Facebook about a family looking for a babysitter in Altissia, but he’s not quite ready to take on a job where he could wind up screwing up a kid for life.

Defeated, he eventually emerges from his room and heads downstairs, aiming for the kitchen. The closer he gets, he can hear Alessia and Clarus’s voices inside, talking cheerfully in Accordan.

They’re making pasta together when he gets in, their heads ducked low over the stove top as they work. It’s such a candid scene that Prompto moves to turn and leave, but they’ve already spotted him.

‘Prompto!’ Alessia says, waving him over. ‘Tell me, black or green olives?’

‘Uhhhh,’ he says, grimacing. ‘Neither? Not really a fan.’

The couple share a laugh, and even though it’s at Prompto’s expense he can’t help but enjoy the sound of it — the sight of them together, joyous and loving even after all those years of marriage.

‘You came to the wrong country,  _ bambino,’ _ Alessia says.

He isn’t in the kitchen long before she enlists his help; there are plates to be gathered and salad vegetables to be washed. It’s a slice of domesticity that he’s never really had — Cor isn’t exactly the cooking type, even when he’s home. 

The Amicitias try to speak in English for his benefit, but from time to time they slip back into Accordan and Prompto lets the words wash over him, imagining he can understand what they’re saying. Alessia, saying  _ thank you, my love _ with a smile as Clarus hands her a knife; Clarus replying  _ of course, darling. _

It’s probably the heat and the novelty of being somewhere new, but to Prompto it all feels so damn  _ romantic. _

‘How do you find it here, Prompto?’ Alessia asks, as they’re bringing everything out to the patio. ‘Do you miss home?’

Prompto shrugs and carefully sets down a dish at one of the place settings. He notices they’re one seat short; maybe he’ll get lucky and find out Gladiolus isn’t coming.

‘A little, I guess,’ he replies. ‘It’s still hard to get used to the little things. Like — the milk tastes all weird, and you eat dinner so late. And — and everywhere closes for a couple hours each day, so you’ve gotta get everything done around it?’

Alessia smiles and nods as she listens. He wonders what it’s like for her, living with these things as the norm. He imagines that if she came to the States, she’d probably find it just as much of a culture shock.

‘If you would like,’ she says, ‘we can bring you to Altissia the next time. There’s an American section at the supermarket.’

Prompto beams as he nods in agreement.

‘That’d be awesome.’

Once everything is set up, Clarus heads inside — presumably to fetch Iris — and Prompto takes a seat across from Alessia. He likes Clarus, of course, but he’s starting to get along especially well with Alessia. She’s like a mother duck, taking a stray duckling under her wing. He knows, however, that there’s so much more to her; in his time here he’s already seen some of her beautiful artwork, ranging from candid nudes of a variety of subjects, to beautiful depictions of the local landscape.

‘Speaking of Altissia,’ Prompto says, between sips of ice water. ‘I was thinking of maybe getting a job while I’m here? Just, y’know, part-time? I haven’t really had any luck, but I guess there’s probably more options in Altissia.’

Alessia mulls the question over thoughtfully and looks off into the middle-distance while she thinks; before she can get around to answering, Clarus returns — and it’s not Iris he has in tow, but Gladiolus.

Prompto’s stomach lurches. The only free seats are on each side of him, leaving Gladiolus to flop down into the one on his right.

‘Prompto said he wanted to find a job,’ Alessia says. ‘I think the supermarket will be hiring, but maybe that’s not such a good job for somebody without much Italian.’

Clarus smirks to himself and looks at Prompto.

‘Probably boring, too,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to spend the summer inside a supermarket, do you?’

The matter seems to drop for the moment as everybody sets about serving up. Prompto tries to focus on the food, and not the sheen of sweat on Gladiolus’s muscular arms.

‘Do you know if anyone is hiring, Gladio?’ Clarus asks, as his son passes him the bowl of salad. ‘You have friends in the city, right? Maybe they could put in a recommendation where they work.’

Gladiolus chews his food while he thinks it over — and Prompto opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get there, Gladiolus chimes in.

‘I could take him to look in Altissia tomorrow,’ he says.

‘Great,’ Clarus replies, with a warm smile. ‘Then that’s settled.’

* * *

In hindsight, maybe agreeing to go job hunting with Gladiolus hadn’t been the best of ideas — but then Prompto hadn’t really been able to say no. If there’s something he’s starting to learn about the Amicitias, it’s that they’re often helpful to a fault.

He sits in the passenger side of Gladiolus’s beat-up old Fiat, reflecting on his options as they make the drive across the countryside to Altissia.

Maybe it won’t be so bad today; maybe having somebody who can speak the language will be a boon. At the very least, even if it doesn’t work out, Prompto can always say he tried.

‘Did you ever work before?’ Gladiolus asks. He flicks the slightest of glances in Prompto’s direction before turning his attention back to the road. ‘So we know what to look for.’

Prompto sighs and runs back over his brief, uneventful career history. He used to help out in the library at school, but he’s not so sure that counts. He knows a little about cars, too, from helping Cor out — but that’s probably not much use either.

‘I uh…’ he chews his lips, staring out at the scenery passing by. ‘I worked at my school library for a little while. And I had two night shifts for a while at a convenience store.’

He judges, from Gladiolus’s silence, that hopes aren’t high for finding anything. Maybe Prompto should give up on the idea of working this summer; with the heritage scholarship he won to come study here, he’s probably got enough to cover him for all of his basic needs. He only wanted to find a job to keep him out of the house while Gladiolus was around, and so far all he’s achieved is finding himself stuck in a car with the guy.

Dejected, Prompto rests his chin in his hand and sighs.

* * *

It’s as bad as he had feared — maybe even worse.

Even with Gladiolus to do all the talking, it’s increasingly obvious to Prompto that his lack of experience and non-existent Italian are becoming insurmountable obstacles. He figures that if he could at least speak the language, maybe he could sweet-talk his way into something — prove what a happy-go-lucky, personable dude he is, and that what he lacks in experience he makes up for in exuberance.

The problem is that he can barely say  _ Hello _ in Italian, let alone try to convey all of that.

They’re taking a break for the morning, grabbing brunch in a café alongside one of the canals, when Prompto decides that maybe it’s time to admit defeat.

‘It’s useless,’ he says, letting his forehead drop against the table in front of him. He’s careful, at least, not to land in his food. ‘I’m giving up.’

‘What kind of attitude is this?’ Gladiolus says. ‘You give up so quickly in America?’

Prompto gives a long, drawn-out groan. It’s probably easy for Gladiolus to say that; he’s not the fish out of water right now.

He lifts his head and uses his hands to push his hair out of his face, where his skin’s all clammy from the mid-morning heat. It’s only going to get worse as the day wears on.

‘Thanks for helping,’ he says, morosely using his straw to stir his soda. ‘It was worth a shot, I guess.’

Gladiolus, however, doesn’t seem so easily dissuaded — he whips out his phone and dials a number, looking around as he holds the phone to his ear.

Whoever he’s calling, they speak in Italian — not Accordan. The person on the other end seems to do most of the talking after Gladiolus makes his preamble, and all Prompto can do is half-heartedly suck from his straw while he waits for some sort of explanation.

When Gladiolus hangs up, he looks a little irritated, but not entirely disappointed.

‘Maybe I found somethin’ for you,’ he says gruffly. ‘But it’s in Claustra. If we go now, we can get there when he closes for lunch.’

Prompto doesn’t get an explanation — nor does he learn who the  _ he _ Gladiolus referenced might be — even after they finish up their brunch and leave the café. Gladiolus is a man on a mission as he leads the way through the winding, labyrinthine streets of Altissia.

Someday, Prompto decides, he’ll come into the city for a proper tour. All he’s seen of it so far was that first day when he arrived and was too dazed to notice his surroundings, and scurrying about with Gladiolus today.

‘So what is this job, anyway?’ he asks, trying to keep up with Gladiolus’s long strides. ‘You never mentioned.’

‘Bookstore,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Iggy said that he needed a little help when I’m not there, to stock the storeroom and things.’

Prompto nods his head thoughtfully. A bookstore might not be so bad — he  _ does _ have experience in a library, after all, and if it keeps him in the back he shouldn’t have to worry too much about not being able to converse with customers.

They’ve probably gone twenty paces before it hits him.

‘Wait,’ he says, all but screeching to a halt. ‘When you’re “not there”?’

Gladiolus turns and looks him over with a shrug. Where he stands, he has to squint into the light to see Prompto.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘My friend, Ignis, he owns the place. I work there too. Didn’t I say that?’

_ No, _ Prompto thinks, as Gladiolus sets off ahead of him and he’s forced to keep up.  _ No, you did not. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. Okay, for anybody following along with this: thank you so much for being so patient. 
> 
> A little life update: I'm due with my second kiddo in a little over a month and morning sickness has made itself at home in my life once more. Writing is about the first thing on my to-do list, but the last thing I have the _energy_ for. Believe me, I haven't abandoned this, or any of my other fics. This year has just been a whirlwind of exhaustion, nausea, and trying to get everything ready for D-Day.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the update, and I wanted to thank everybody who's been supportive along the way as I've struggled to get back into the swing of things.

Prompto wonders, an hour into lugging boxes back and forth between the basement of the bookstore and the first floor, why he ever went along with Gladiolus’s suggestion. The job was supposed to be a way of keeping out of Gladiolus’s path; now, not only does Prompto have a job where the guy works, but he’s being trained by Gladiolus himself.

He’s pretty sure he never even would’ve got the job if Gladiolus hadn’t been so stubborn and insistent — Ignis hadn’t exactly been dazzled by his resumé, and the fact that Prompto’d been wearing a black skull tank and torn up jeans to the impromptu interview probably hadn’t helped.

But somehow, Ignis had agreed, and now Prompto has a job. A job which is currently _killing_ his back.

‘Is this what you do all day long?’ he asks, as they take a rare break and he helps himself to a swig of lukewarm soda from the bottle in his bag.

Gladiolus shrugs. He seems to be coping with the manual labour — and the heat — a lot better than Prompto is.

‘I stay upstairs when we’re open usually,’ he says. ‘It’s either me or Ignis. He was complainin’ forever that he needed somebody to do all the stock stuff while he’s working, so that’s where you come in.’

‘So… keep my head down and hope nobody asks me a question,’ Prompto says. ‘Got it.’

His words drag the slightest smile from Gladiolus’s lips, and he feels his stomach flutter in response. Thankfully Gladiolus turns away to attend to some task before Prompto has to think very long and hard on it.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Gladiolus says. ‘You’re here to learn Italian, right? You can’t learn if you don’t practice.’

With his back turned as he files something onto a shelf behind the counter, Prompto can see his tattoo ripple with the movement.

‘Easy for you to say,’ Prompto replies with a sigh, against the counter and taking another sip of soda. ‘You’ve been speaking Italian since you were tiny. It’s a lot harder than you think.’

Gladiolus gives a load guffaw and wheels around on his heels, hands perched on his hips.

‘You think I was born speakin’ English?’ he counters. ‘It’s not _gived,_ it’s _gave._ It’s not _feeded,_ it’s _fed._ Don’t even talk to me about how you spell things.’

The guy has a point, Prompto decides. He’s not even sure how to spell stuff on the best of days, and he’s got a dictionary website bookmarked for all the words he’s seen written down but doesn’t know how to pronounce.

Meekly, he shrugs.

‘Yeah, English sucks,’ he says. ‘But you’ve been learning it since you started school, right? You got like a… I don’t know, unfair advantage.’

He just catches the way Gladiolus rolls his eyes as he turns his back; before Gladiolus has fully turned, Prompto sticks his tongue out at him.

Maybe it’s not all bad working together, Prompto thinks. The guy’s a little less intimidating when you get to know him.

Still crazy hot, though.

‘We should get back to work,’ Gladiolus says. ‘If we finish with the delivery, I’ll show you about making new orders.’

It doesn’t take long between the two of them, at least; most of the stock winds up going onto shelves around the store, with the rest being placed into storage in the basement. The cataloguing system is easy enough to get the hang of, Prompto finds, since it relies on the same one they used back at his school library.

They find a rhythm, and soon Gladiolus dusts off his hands and announces that they’re finished. To Prompto, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

‘So, what’s next?’ he asks, checking a papercut on his index finger. ‘The ordery thingy?’

Gladiolus flicks a glance around the shop; when his eyes settle on a heap of boxes by the counter, Prompto feels his heart drop. More heavy lifting? Great.

As if Gladiolus can hear his thoughts, he gives a chuckle and shakes his head, heading over to the boxes and scooping a stack of them into his arms as though they weigh nothing at all.

‘I got the heavy ones,’ Gladiolus says. ‘You can get the rest.’

 _The rest_ is still a considerable burden, Prompto decides, as he stoops to pick everything up; he can just about manage it as he rises to his feet again and tilts, allowing the bulk of the weight to sit against his stomach.

He can’t so much see _over_ the boxes as _around_ them, but he toes his way carefully across the store, peering almost comically around the edge of them as he gets to the doorway leading to the basement.

The door must’ve swung partway shut — he bumps it with the corner of one of the boxes as he goes, and for a single, precarious moment he feels himself wobble toward the doorway and the stairs that lie beyond. He keeps upright, but the box isn’t so lucky — loaded haphazardly with old, unwanted books, it topples in his grasp and goes tumbling into the abyss.

There’s a horrific racket not unlike a body tumbling down the steps and hitting everything along the way, and Prompto jerks robotically down after as he watches — helplessly — as books become dislodged from the box and clatter about, landing wherever they may.

Gladiolus is at the bottom before the box has even finished its headlong descent; his brows are knitted with disapproval. All Prompto can do is shrug apologetically and make the rest of the way to the bottom with considerable care, not even slightly eager to follow the box’s example.

‘At least it’s all old stuff, right?’ Prompto says, setting the surviving box down on the first surface he finds. ‘So… It’s not like anybody’s gonna—’

His words are lost in a resounding bang from upstairs; he’d think nothing of it if it weren’t for the way Gladiolus’s face takes on a sudden pale pallor as he flinches.

‘Prompto,’ Gladiolus says slowly. ‘Tell me the latch is still open.’

He doesn’t give Prompto a chance to answer, turning instead toward the staircase and peering up to the top. From the way he claps a hand over his eyes, heaving a sigh of resignation, Prompto guesses it’s not good news.

He watches as Gladiolus heads up the steps, taking two at a time as though it’s no sweat at all; watches him try the knob once, twice, three times with no success.

‘Oh,’ Prompto says. ‘I guess that’s not good?’

Gladiolus’s expression is dark as he turns around; dangerous, almost.

‘No, it’s not.’

* * *

If Prompto could shed his skin to give himself a reprieve from the heat, he would. As it is, it feels like his skin has its own ideas, currently intent on melting off of him.

He’d thought he’d been hot before; now, locked in a basement with no ventilation and no idea of when he’ll get out, he feels a renewed loathing for the local clime. The next time he travels abroad, he’s going somewhere cold — like _polar ice cap_ cold.

He thinks maybe it’s been an hour since Gladiolus finally relented and took two bottles of water from the stock kept down here to replenish the little chilled cabinet for customers upstairs. He’s not so sure on the specifics of time, since neither of them are wearing a watch, and both of their phones are out of commission.

That had been their first thought, of course: to call for help. Prompto’s heart had soared with hope until Gladiolus had revealed he left his phone upstairs so it wouldn’t get damaged during all the heavy lifting. When Prompto had hurriedly slipped his own from his pocket, the battery had been dead.

‘Maybe now you regret checking your social media all morning,’ Gladiolus had said darkly.

Sheepish, Prompto had been able to do little more than blush.

He decides, as he leans his head back against the basement wall behind him — that, at least, is mercifully cool — that he’s going to die down here. If not from starvation, then by Gladiolus’s own hand.

‘Ignis’s gotta come check on us eventually,’ he suggests, glancing over at Gladiolus where he paces the breadth of the room. ‘Or he’ll come to work, realise we’re down here and let us out.’

He regrets saying anything when Gladiolus turns and fixes him with a dark glare.

‘Iggy’s out until Tuesday,’ he says. ‘I’m covering him tomorrow.’

‘Well, when somebody drops by the store tomorrow, they’ll see it’s shut and tell him,’ Prompto says with forced cheer. ‘We’ve just gotta wait until—’

‘It’s a small business,’ Gladiolus says, waving his hand. ‘We open some days, we close others. Nobody’s gonna be worried if they come and it’s shut.’

Prompto resists the urge to point out that they’ll probably be missed at the house; surely the Amicitias will notice they never returned home and put two and two together. That still leaves the matter of spending the night locked down here, together, with Gladiolus on the warpath.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead, meekly. ‘I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. I must’ve hit the latch when I bumped the door with the boxes.’

He expects Gladiolus to round on him; to unleash some fiery tirade so terrifying it will make him wish the ground would open up and swallow him. Instead, Gladiolus sighs and shakes his head, making his way over to where Prompto sits and sliding down to a spot on the ground beside him.

‘It was an accident,’ Gladiolus says, reaching for his own bottle of water. ‘You didn’t know what would happen.’

Prompto shrugs. It’s somewhat of a turnaround for Gladiolus, who’s spent the better part of however long they’ve been down here fuming over it. Maybe he’s finally realised that being pissed won’t get them out of here.

‘It’s kinda dumb, though, huh?’ Prompto says, with a nervous chuckle. ‘Having a door that only opens from one side. Can’t be the first time somebody’s got locked down here, right?’

‘That’s why we keep the latch open,’ Gladiolus counters. ‘So the door can’t shut. I guess it’s like that since the original owners. Maybe to stop people breaking into the basement and getting upstairs.’

Prompto hums noncommittally. He still thinks it’s dumb as hell; maybe he’ll suggest that Ignis change it next time they see each other.

If he even still has a job after today.

‘I’d kill for some pizza right now,’ he says with a groan, closing his eyes. ‘Melty cheese, pepperoni…’

‘If we ever get out of here,’ Gladiolus says, ‘you’re buying it. Maybe it’ll help me forgive you.’

‘I said I’m _sorry,’_ Prompto whines, but when he opens his eyes he finds Gladiolus grinning at him. Even in the heat, even after everything, it makes his heart race.

 _‘Mamma_ makes the best pizzas,’ Gladiolus says proudly. ‘My mom, I mean.’

Prompto snorts. This isn’t the first time Gladiolus has made such a slip — he knows it’s partly a dialect thing, but hearing a grown man refer to his mother as his _‘mamma’_ is painfully adorable.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ Prompto says. ‘I think it’s cute when you call her _Mamma.’_

‘Don’t call me cute,’ Gladiolus protests. ‘I’m not _cute.’_

He shoves Prompto in the arm just lightly. He’s glowering, but if Prompto didn’t know better he’d say there was a faint pink tinge to the guy’s cheeks.

There’s a cramp starting in Prompto’s leg; he pushes himself to his feet and stretches his legs for a little while, and as he passes by one of the windows built close to the ceiling, facing onto ground level on the outside, he tries to gauge from the sun what time it might be. It can’t be very late in the day, probably closer to noon, which means they’ve still got hours to kill.

It’s as he makes a lap of the room, swinging back by where Gladiolus sits, that something dawns on him — his head snaps toward the window, then toward Gladiolus, and he narrows his eyes as an idea starts to take shape.

‘You said the lock is on the other side to stop people getting in through the basement, didn’t you?’ he says.

Gladiolus shrugs, nonplussed.

‘Yeah.’

‘So,’ Prompto says, moving to the wall and stretching up to reach one of the windows. He can barely grip onto the bottom of the frame. ‘Maybe we can get _out_ through here, too.’

The window is small — definitely too much of a squeeze for Gladiolus — but Prompto thinks he might just about be able to shimmy his way through. He just needs a way to get up there first.

Gladiolus gets to his feet, over at Prompto’s side in a few lengthy strides. _He_ doesn’t have to stretch up to see through the window, at least. Any taller and he’d probably keep hitting his head on the ceiling.

The windows are secured with ancient-looking mechanisms, so old and worn Prompto half expects them to break in Gladiolus’s sizeable grasp. The first one he tries won’t budge, rusted shut; he walks away from the second with similar results. It’s at the third, however, that they strike gold — with a lot of wiggling and a little brute force, the lock pops open with an ear-splintering screech, allowing Gladiolus to shove it open.

‘You think you’ll fit through?’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’ll give you a boost.’

It’s only now that Prompto’s faced with the task that he starts to doubt himself. The width of the frame looks a lot smaller than he’d thought, and as Gladiolus lets him step into his cradled hands, he has flashes of getting himself lodged in place, effectively ruling out their last chance of escape.

Prompto isn’t even sure if he’ll get his _head_ through as Gladiolus boosts him up, but he manages — and as he finds purchase with his fingertips in the gaps between the paving stones outside, he tries to claw his way up.

Heat rushes through him; he realises, fuzzily, that Gladiolus is gripping him by the hips, bare hands on bare skin where his shirt has ridden up. The contact almost makes Prompto lose all semblance of self-control, but between gripping at the slabs outside and Gladiolus pushing him up, it isn’t long before he’s crawling out onto street level.

For a minute he just lies there, pressed to the dusty ground, relieved to be free. Gladiolus’s voice soon floats out after him, snapping him out of it.

‘You okay up there?’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’ll throw the keys up.’

Prompto feels something hard tap his thigh, hears the jangle of metal on stone as the keys land beside him. With a great heave, Prompto pushes himself to his haunches, grabs the key ring, and — taking a moment to give Gladiolus a thumbs-up through the opening of the window — heads off around the block.

He’s covered in dust, dying from the heat, and he’s pretty sure he won’t have a job after today, but as he lets himself into the store and jogs to the basement door, twisting it open, all he feels is a sense of triumph.

‘Your saviour has arrived,’ he calls, his voice echoing down the stairs. ‘So, how ‘bout that pizza?’

* * *

‘Maybe we don’t tell Ignis about this.’

Gladiolus blots a napkin at the corner of his mouth as he speaks, his eyes already fixated on the next slice. Prompto’s glad they ordered the supersize now — the guy could probably have devoured a large on his own.

‘Serious?’ Prompto says. A cool rush of relief goes through him, prickling at his neck. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’

Gladiolus lifts his shoulder in a shrug. As predicted, he reaches over and grabs another slice.

‘Iggy’s all right, but he can be a little bit… uptight, is it?’ he says. ‘We don’t need to give him somethin’ else to worry about.’

It definitely rings true with what Prompto has seen of his new employer. Ignis isn’t Italian, as Prompto had expected, but rather British — the stiff-upper-lip variety, too. Although they’ve only met once, Ignis seems like the sort of person who hates even the slightest detail to be out of his control. Hiring a trainwreck like Prompto is probably the _last_ thing he needs in his carefully-cultivated agenda.

‘Well,’ Prompto says, sticking his chin out in determination. ‘From here on out, I vow that I’ll be as little trouble for him as I can be. I hope.’

Gladiolus smirks; he hides it behind a mouthful of pizza, but Prompto sees the way one dark eyebrow arches in amusement.

God, even _that_ is unbearably sexy.

Prompto coughs awkwardly and covers it with a sip of cola. At least Gladiolus is looking away, his glance on something in the distance out of the window.

‘You did good today,’ Gladiolus says absently. ‘Maybe you hurt a few books, but nothing got broken.’

‘Guess so,’ Prompto sighs. ‘I mean, it probably could’ve been worse. Had to start out my new job with a bang. Leave my mark, y’know.’

He realises, after a beat, that Gladiolus isn’t paying attention any more — when he pulls his phone out and lights up the screen only long enough to check the time, Prompto gets the feeling there’s somewhere else he’d rather be.

‘You… got someplace to be?’ Prompto asks, stirring his drink with the straw. The ice has all but melted into tiny slivers now.

‘Huh?’

Gladiolus looks up at him and blinks. As if coming out of a dream, he shakes his head.

‘I’m meetin’ somebody later,’ he says. ‘Still got time. What about you? You gonna make any more trouble today?’

‘Shut up,’ Prompto mutters, with a scowl.

He doesn’t mean it, though. As he busies himself with his next slice of pizza, he can’t help but think that even this — the good-natured teasing — feels nice.

He’ll get over his little crush, he decides, as he tries not to keep catching Gladiolus’s eye across the table. They can be friends, and that’ll be enough.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can mostly keep up with me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) these days. As always, my (very much neglected) tumblr is right [here](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change! This fic will be **explicit** from here on out.

Cor left about a dozen messages asking how the first day at work was; Prompto left out the bit about getting locked in the basement and kept his debriefing relatively cool, signing off with how easy he’s been finding it to settle in with the Amicitias.

Cor’s response had been surprisingly swift, even given the time difference:  _ I’m proud of you. _

Prompto wonders how proud his old man would be if he knew he’d been having  _ thoughts _ about the eldest son of his host family.

It’s not like he hasn’t been trying to keep Gladiolus out of his thoughts — out of his fantasies. Sometimes he just catches himself daydreaming, staring at Gladiolus’s lips while he talks.

At least Gladiolus’s prior plans meant he was absent from the dinner table the evening after, which had given Prompto a minor reprieve. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t felt a little twinge of something, though, when he’d seen Gladiolus head out the door in a freshly-ironed shirt, a sweet, spicy scent trailing after him from the cologne splashed onto his tanned skin.

Since that first shift together, they’ve had one more, during which Gladiolus showed Prompto the rudiments of the ordering system — which, while all in Italian, is at least laid out easily enough that Prompto can figure his way through it.

Today’s their third — and last — training shift. After today, if Prompto’s lucky, he won’t have Gladiolus hovering over his shoulder making sure he doesn’t set the place on fire.

‘I’ll show you the register today,’ Gladiolus says.  _ ‘Just _ in case. Iggy said you might as well be trained for everythin’.’

This, at least, is something that Prompto picks up easily enough. The few transactions that he shadows Gladiolus through seem relatively uncomplicated, with minimal communication beyond polite banter. Prompto even picks up a few handy phrases —  _ Good morning, Have a nice day, What can I do for you? _

His pronunciation is awful, but at least it teases a smile from Gladiolus’s lips to hear him trying.

There’s a lull, finally, and Prompto gets a moment to himself to run over everything he’s learned today. It’s only eleven and his head is spinning from all the information he’s absorbed, trying to sort through the things he’ll definitely need to remember and the stuff he’ll — hopefully — never have to use.

He even took notes, so he flips through his notebook now, poring over the tips he took down for himself.

In big letters on the very first page are the words: WATCH THE BASEMENT DOOR.

‘Hey, Gladiolus,’ he says brightly. ‘You think you could show me how the search thing again on the computer? There’s some stuff I wanna brush up on.’

So that’s stretching the truth a little, but it’s a harmless lie. There’s just something nice about Gladiolus patiently taking him through everything, standing close as he points things out.

‘Yeah.’

Gladiolus moves around to the computer and pulls up the appropriate part of the software, waiting for Prompto to fall into place behind him. 

‘Anythin’ you’re not sure about?’ Gladiolus asks. ‘Or do you want me to take you through everything again? Ah,  _ from the top?’ _

Prompto nods, feeling a grin crack across his face.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘From the top.’

Slowly, Gladiolus takes him through each of the steps. Prompto’s attention is half on the low rumble of his voice, and half on the sight of his fingers moving deftly across the keys as he types. When Gladiolus pauses from time to time to make sure Prompto’s taking it in, Prompto gives a nod and a bright smile, waiting for Gladiolus’s glance to return to the screen before breaking eye contact.

Maybe it’s a little bit pathetic, Prompto thinks, as he uses the pretext of getting a look at something on the screen to shuffle just slightly closer to the other guy. Maybe it’s a  _ lot _ pathetic when he catches the scent of Gladiolus’s aftershave and breathes in deep.

He’s  _ supposed _ to be getting over his crush. So much for that.

Gladiolus sets Prompto the task of searching for a book on music history; Prompto’s about halfway through the fields when the store’s door opens with a chime, drawing their attention upwards.

A young woman walks in, impossibly pretty and summery in a floral dress that flutters at the tops of her shapely thighs. Her dark hair is pinned to one side of her head, hanging loose down her shoulder; even from the counter, Prompto can see her eyelashes are ridiculously long, curled at the ends.

That might have been the end of his interest in her if she hadn’t caught Gladiolus’s eye with a smile, flashing pearly white teeth and waving across the store. As she strides towards them, Prompto feels his heart sink.

Is this the girl Gladiolus was meeting the other night? The  _ girlfriend? _

_‘Ciao,_ Gladio!’ she announces, leaning across the counter to kiss him on each cheek. After that, she launches off in a stream of Italian-or-maybe-Accordan that Prompto can’t hope to keep up with.

‘Who’s your friend?’ she asks, in English, when she seems to take in the entirely lost look on Prompto’s face.

‘This is Prompto,’ Gladiolus supplies.  _ ‘Un americano, qui per imparare l'italiano. _ He’s livin’ with us for the summer. Prompto, this is Marta.’

Prompto isn’t sure if he should shake hands by way of greeting, but then — to his great horror — Marta props herself up on the counter and stretches across it, brushing cheeks with him.

_ ‘Molto lieta,’ _ she says, and the smile she gives him is warm and genuine.  _ ‘Come ti stai trovando in Italia?’ _

Prompto stares blankly at her; she blinks, then laughs.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘You’re… how do you say, a beginner?’

Just like that, Prompto’s cheeks flame up. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck and turns his glance downwards, shuffling from foot to foot. Marta, for her part, is all smiles for him; she reaches across the counter to his other arm and touches his wrist gently, and even though he  _ wants _ to hate her — if she  _ is _ Gladiolus’s mystery girl — he finds he can’t.

‘S’okay,’ she says. ‘My English is not so good sometimes, also. Maybe we can help each other.’

‘Marta lives in Altissia,’ Gladiolus says. ‘She studies at the university. So I’m wonderin’ why she’s here in little old Claustra when she should be livin’ the high life.’

Marta makes a raspberry sound, waving Gladiolus off.

‘Not all bad here, Gladio,’ she replies. ‘We got you! I’m in town to see my _nonna._ She’s eighty-three years this week.’

_ Nonna, _ at least, is something Prompto can riddle out — grandma. 

‘Tell her  _ buon compleanno _ from us,’ Gladiolus says.

‘Tell her yourself!’ Marta retorts. ‘She’d love that — handsome boys dropping by. Probably she’ll get you to do some work around the house while you’re there. Just don’t let her sweet talk you into doing it  _ a petto nudo, _ eh?’

Gladiolus snorts.

Prompto can infer well enough what she means; for the second time, he feels heat rush to his cheeks.

‘Anyway,’ Marta says. She moves her hand to the counter, drumming manicured nails against the surface. ‘I’m only coming to say hi quickly, I should go. We gotta catch up properly, though, Gladio! I’m in Claustra until Saturday.’

They share chitchat a little while longer; Prompto pretends to busy himself with the software on the computer. All he keeps thinking is that if Marta wants to  _ catch up, _ chances are she’s not the mystery person Gladiolus met up with the other day. So, not his girlfriend.

He’d be embarrassed that he cared if he weren’t so relieved.

* * *

Noct has his hair pinned back out of his face, and it’s a weird sight to behold — something about health and safety regulations at his new job. Prompto, of course, hadn’t been able to resist teasing him.

‘Any progress with Casanova?’ Noct asks, his words barbed. He can give as good as he gets.

Prompto sighs and covers his face with his hands. He should probably have thought twice about telling Noct the latest news with Gladiolus — their  _ moment _ in the basement, the maybe-girlfriend in the picture — but the guy’s his best friend, so he’d had nobody else to vent to. He knows Noct means well, at least.

‘That ship has  _ sailed, _ dude,’ Prompto protests, through the gaps between his fingers. ‘There was never a ship.’

When he uncovers his face, there’s a mischievous glint to Noct’s eyes that Prompto isn’t so sure he likes the look of.

‘Well, being your wingman and all,’ Noct says, ‘I took the liberty of looking this guy up online and he’s on Facebook. Why didn’t you tell me he was  _ that hot?’ _

Prompto rolls his eyes. He shouldn’t be surprised, really — Noctis’s love life might be just as hopeless as his own, but that doesn’t mean he’s not adept at meddling in Prompto’s.

‘I kinda did, buddy,’ Prompto says. ‘Y’know, the whole  _ so hot I think I got a nosebleed _ thing?’

Noctis shrugs carelessly; a beat later he’s leaning toward his laptop and tapping at the keys, and a message pops through on Prompto’s side.

‘Take a look,’ Noct says. ‘Relationship status: single.’

Prompto clicks the link and it brings him to the familiar Facebook background; when the profile pops up there’s a picture of Gladiolus shirtless at the beach, a pair of aviators glinting in the sun. His skin is wet from a dip in the turquoise waters visible behind him, and the beads of moisture glisten in the light.

His eyes go to the  _ About _ section beneath the picture. There’s Gladiolus’s hometown of Claustra, and his work experience; he even has his parents and sister added on his profile, as well as a couple relatives Prompto has never met.

There it is: single. Black pixels, indelible on the off-white background of the Facebook page.

‘I dunno, Noct,’ he says hesitantly. ‘Maybe he doesn’t use it that much. Or maybe he doesn’t do the whole  _ Facebook-official _ thing.’

When he tabs back to the video, Noct looks unconvinced where he lies back on his pillows.

‘Don’t give up yet, dude,’ he says. ‘I mean… you could always add him, right? See if there’s any girls he talks to.’

To Prompto, it sounds an awful lot like stalking — and yet…

What could it hurt to try?

‘You’re a terrible influence,’ he says, shaking his head wryly.

He still tabs back to Facebook, though, and hovers over the  _ Add _ button. Back in high school, he added everybody he met, no matter how tenuous the connection; this seems different, somehow. Maybe it’s because he’s crushing on this dude, and not just adding him for the hell of it.

If he adds Gladiolus, there’s no going back. What if his request stays pending forever? Worse — what if Gladiolus actually adds him back?

No, this is a bad idea.  _ Terrible _ idea.

Prompto moves his finger over his laptop’s trackpad, but he bumps it a little too hard. Instead of scrolling, it clicks the  _ Add _ button and a little pop-up appears telling him his friend request has been sent.

‘Shit.’

‘What?’ Noct says. ‘What’s up? Did you do it?’

Prompto sighs and clicks back over to the video call. Noct’s got a giddy grin on his face, the most excited Prompto’s seen him since their local comic book store got in a rare collection of old video games.

‘Welp,’ Prompto mutters. ‘I hope you have fun at my funeral. Make sure Cor doesn’t put me in a suit.’

‘Dude, this is a good thing,’ Noct insists. ‘You’ll send him a funny picture, he’ll leave a laughing emoji, and the rest will be history. Just — maybe go through your photos before he adds you back. I think there’s some from when you had braces.’

Prompto winces. That’s not something he ever wants Gladiolus to see.

‘Good call,’ he says. ‘Thanks, buddy.’

Noct doesn’t have much by way of news; it seems his life, at least, has been uneventful since Prompto left. They spend the rest of the call talking about anime, while Prompto culls his embarrassing photos with Noct’s assistance. There’s not much left by the end — he’ll have to remember to start being more selective about his selfies.

‘It’s getting late,’ Prompto says with a yawn. ‘I’m gonna pass out.’

‘No worries,’ Noct replies. ‘You better keep me updated ‘kay?’

Prompto rolls his eyes and signs off, leaving just enough time to catch the grin Noctis wears.

He has every intention of heading to bed, but of course he has to dick around for a while now that he’s on Facebook. There are updates to be liked, comments to be left, and videos to be watched.

He’s watching one of those high-speed recipe clips when he hears a little  _ ding _ through the speakers; he minimises the video to see there’s a notification waiting for him.

_ Gladiolus Amicitia has accepted your friend request. _

The words fill Prompto with equal parts terror and excitement. Forgetting how tired he might have been, he clicks the notification and it brings him to Gladiolus’s page.

It takes him a while to get to anything good — lots of shared videos and posts from fitness pages, a few photos Gladiolus’s friends have tagged him in. There’s a couple shots from a night out, featuring him with a variety of girls. Prompto checks out a few of their profiles, but they all seem to have boyfriends listed.

That’s when the distinct feeling of  _ creepy _ begins to set in, and Prompto realises he’s kind of abusing Gladiolus’s trust by stalking through everybody he talks with to find out if he’s seeing them.

It can’t hurt to keep looking through the guy’s photos though, right?

There are a few more from the beach, and Prompto can see the towering white architecture of Altissia in the background of one of them. Next are some shots of scenery somewhere lush and green, set off against snow-capped mountains to the rear.

Prompto almost calls it a night before clicking through to the treasure trove — a bunch of fitness shots Gladiolus took of himself, and a bunch somebody else must have taken of him working out. There’s even a couple of the guy wielding a katana like he knows how to use it, and Prompto has to admit they’re surprisingly hot.

The last photo he clicks onto is one of Gladiolus took of himself in the mirror, shirtless. Prompto recognises the bathroom they share; can see the quaint pattern of the tiling in the background.

_ The progress of my tattoo, _ the caption reads, according to the automated translation. The eagle is just an outline, the linework not yet filled in. 

Prompto’s not paying much attention to the ink, though — his eyes, as if controlled by some primeval impulse, travel down the picture to where he can see the ridge of muscle running from Gladiolus’s hips, down to the band of his sweat pants like the lights of an airplane runway. Prompto thinks he remembers something from art class about the term  _ Apollo’s belt, _ something straight out of a Greek sculpture.

Prompto can’t help but eye the waistband of Gladiolus’s pants, as though staring at it might somehow melt the material away, leaving only skin beneath. As it is, what’s visible of the trail of hair there is tantalising in ways that Prompto can’t quite put into words.

This is like bumping into Gladiolus on his way out of the shower, only worse somehow. Worse, because he can’t look away. Worse, because he doesn’t want to.

With his fingertip on the trackpad poised over the X of the tab, Prompto wets his lips and tells himself to close it. And wills himself. And wills himself some more.

And yet his eyes keep going back to the furrow of muscle, and the tangle of dark hair, and up to Gladiolus’s face to where his lips are just visible at the top of the shot.  _ Those lips. _ Prompto wonders, painfully, what it would be like to be kissed by them.

He blows out a long, slow, shuddering breath. Tries to put thoughts of kissing Gladiolus out of his head. Fails miserably.

He’s imagining the rasp of stubble against his chin, the feel of Gladiolus’s strong fingers raking down his back, when he tells himself that enough is enough. With a huff, he sets his laptop aside on the bed and clambers to his feet, stalking across to the far side of the room as though this small distance will be enough to keep Gladiolus from his thoughts.

It’s not.

Like a moth to the flame he’s drawn back, and he stands by the edge of the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His eyes go to Gladiolus’s hips again. He wonders what kind of underwear the guy likes, and that sets Prompto off picturing him in various form-fitting garments, all clinging tightly enough to give the perfect view of his cock.

He’s big, Prompto figures. Thick. Uncut, like they’re all said to be on this side of the Atlantic.

Prompto’s too hot, the layers of his clothing too much for him. Before he knows it, he’s going for the buckle of his belt.

He tells himself it’s an accident when he brushes against his dick as he pushes his jeans down his legs; tells himself that he hardly feels the thrill of pleasure that goes through him. Tells himself, as he kicks off his jeans and scrambles into his bed, that if he takes a little time to tend to himself tonight, it’s got nothing to do with Gladiolus.

The picture is still open, of course, but who’s here to judge him?

He’s slow and teasing, at first. Doesn’t give himself the satisfaction of going in for the kill; instead fixes his eyes on Gladiolus’s lips, and licks his own, gently trailing his fingertips up his inner thigh. He can form a picture in his head of Gladiolus kneeling between his legs, pushing them apart, but he pushes it away — replaces it with one where the roles are reversed and Gladiolus is lying back, head propped in his hands as he watches Prompto with great interest.

In this little fantasy, Gladiolus would be in nothing but a pair of white compression shorts, like the kind the jocks at school used to wear under their football uniforms — the kind that cling to every muscle, every ridge, and leave nothing to the imagination. Prompto would see a little pool of dampness at the head of Gladiolus’s cock where it was pinned to him, and Prompto would know that little show of arousal was all for him.

He moves his hand up himself a little higher, just skirting the tips of his fingers under the opening of his undies. They’re a pair of yellow briefs, nothing like what Prompto’s picturing Gladiolus in, but this isn’t about him, anyway.

He can imagine the look in Gladiolus’s eyes as he’d lean in close and mouth over the protrusion of his cock; can imagine the salty, irresistible taste of precum as he’d lave his tongue over it.

He can almost  _ hear _ the moan that Gladiolus would make — low and needy, for his ears alone.

The hairs prickle at the back of Prompto’s neck; he slips his fingers into the slot of his briefs and pulls his dick free, sighing out a breath as his eyes greedily drink in the photo of Gladiolus once more.

Gladiolus’s nipples, he decides, look like they’d like some attention too — so he adds to his fantasy, picturing himself lifting his hand up and gently gripping one of them, twisting hard enough for a growl to sound from Gladiolus’s lips. The touch would set precum leaking from his cock, too, Prompto bets; he pictures himself using his free hand to tug the band of Gladiolus’s shorts down just enough to expose the head of his erection, where he’d close his mouth around it and let the taste trickle onto his tongue.

_ Fuck. _

Prompto runs his thumb over the head of his own dick where it’s already slick, letting the liquid bead there and lifting it to his mouth. When he tastes it on his tongue, he imagines it’s Gladiolus — squeezes his eyes shut and imagines the guy’s mouth opening in ecstacy, all sorts of wanton sounds escaping his lips.

There’s no point in teasing any more — Prompto brings his other hand down and makes a fist around his cock, pumping at it as the mental image endures. Imagines Gladiolus murmuring his name in low, desperate tones, begging him for more.

The photo on his screen is all but forgotten now, the picture emblazoned in his head superior in so many ways: Gladiolus writhing under his touch, sweat rolling down his tanned muscular torso, bucking his hips up toward Prompto’s mouth. As the fantasy wears on, Gladiolus only growing more frantic, Prompto finds himself carried along with the rhythm as his hand takes up an urgent pace on his own erection.

It’s over in an instant, it seems, and Prompto’s gasping and shuddering and jerking, barely yanking his shirt out of the way before his load spills, hot and abundant, over his stomach.

When it’s done — when he’s squeezed the last drop from himself — he feels cold and empty. The photo is still there on the screen, and even though he can’t see Gladiolus’s eyes in it he feels as though the guy’s watching him, silently judging him.

With a huff, Prompto slams the lid of the laptop shut and shoves it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

_‘Per favore, passami lo…’_

Prompto glances around the table, searching for the word. Across from him, Iris beams encouragingly; Alessia wears a more subtle smile where she sits reading the newspaper, half-listening to the conversation.

 _C’mon, Prompto,_ he thinks. _You got this._

He focuses on the bottle of orange juice in the middle of the table, willing the name to come to him. He could cheat, but the bottle’s turned away from him so the only part of it he can see is the letter _S._

All of a sudden, it pops into his head.

_‘Succo!’_

Iris claps her hands together and her face lights up with excitement. It’s surprising how much of a rush of satisfaction it gives Prompto to know that she’s pleased with him; she might be five years his junior, but she’s a good kid, and she’s been more of a help to his abysmal Italian skills than any of his classes.

 _‘Molto bene!’_ she proclaims. ‘It’s just, it’s _il succo._ But you’re doin’ great!’

She rewards him by passing the orange juice and he tops up his glass, gulping from it with a flourish.

He knows he’s still taking baby steps where it comes to learning the language, but any progress is _good_ progress. At least it makes him feel like this whole trip isn’t a waste of time.

They chatter back and forth for the rest of brunch, littering simplistic Italian in with the English. Prompto periodically asks for translations — _‘Come si dice…?’ ‘Cosa significa…?’_ — and by the end of it he thinks he has the basics of most of the food and drink they’ve been having, along with a handful of items found around the patio and on the table.

He’s asking Alessia how to say _newspaper_ when a loud yawn sounds out from behind Prompto and he hears footsteps pad across the tiled floor.

 _‘Buongiorno,_ Gladio,’ Alessia says, with a raise of one of her arched eyebrows. ‘Or maybe _buon pomeriggio_ will be better?’

‘It means _good afternoon,’_ Iris says in a whisper, for Prompto’s benefit.

Prompto tries to feign a smile. His shoulders tense as Gladiolus moves around the table, anticipating him sitting down in the free seat directly beside him; instead, the man leans across his shoulder and grabs an apricot from the bowl in the middle of the table.

‘I got home late,’ Gladiolus says, with a wave of his hand. His voice is gravelly, which seems to corroborate his story. _‘Mi lasci in pace, Mamma.’_

He moves to the chair between Iris and Alessia, leaning over the back of it. He hasn’t showered yet; his dark hair is tied haphazardly up into a knot atop his head, with thick strands of it hanging down his neck. He’s still in his pajamas, a white cotton tank top and plaid sweats that sit low on his hips.

‘We’re teachin’ Prompto Italian,’ Iris says brightly. ‘Wanna help?’

Gladiolus glances over, but before their eyes can meet Prompto pretends to busy himself with his phone. He hopes nobody can see the flush of his cheeks; he feels like his thoughts are emblazoned across his face for everybody’s viewing.

‘Gotta get to Altissia,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Meetin’ Giulia for lunch.’

Beside him, Iris erupts into girlish giggles.

‘Ooooh, _Giulia,’_ she teases, before making a series of kissy noises directed at her brother.

Prompto’s heart sinks. So this must be the elusive girlfriend, after all.

‘You wanna stop that?’ Gladiolus says with a growl.

He might _sound_ irritated, but when Prompto glances up at him he’s smirking as he reaches over and ruffles Iris’s hair. The girl shrieks in protest, lashing out at him in a vain attempt at fending him off, and this goes on until Alessia affectionately puts an end to it.

‘You gonna bring this girl to dinner sometime?’ their mother asks as she sets her paper aside. ‘It’s _Giulia this_ and _Giulia that_ and I never even met her.'

Gladiolus shrugs. When he pulls away from Iris, he lifts the apricot to his mouth and takes a bite of it without giving an answer.

‘Gladio’s shy,’ Iris says with a sigh. ‘He’s in looooove.’

‘Iris, shut up.’

 _‘Gladio…’_ Alessia warns.

It should be a pleasant slice of life to sit in on, but it only makes Prompto feel uneasy. It’s bad enough that he’s been avoiding Gladiolus since his little night-time indulgence, for fear that the guy will somehow know _exactly_ what he did; now he has to sit in on a lengthy conversation about Gladiolus’s girlfriend.

In Gladiolus’s hand, juice drips from the apricot, rolling down his wrist. As Prompto watches the bead of sticky liquid make its way down the man’s muscular forearm, he hopes the ground’s planning on swallowing him up sometime soon.

‘Gonna take a shower,’ Gladiolus says, pushing off from the chair. He brushes his cheek against his mother’s in farewell, and ruffles Iris’s hair with his clean hand again as he passes. ‘See you later, Prompto.’

Prompto makes some sort of vague sound in response. He waits until Gladiolus is safely inside, the door clicking shut behind him, before deciding it’s safe to breathe again.

* * *

Prompto tells himself that he’s almost getting used to the hotter climes, but mostly he thinks it might be a lie. Whether he’s better off inside the house or outside, the difference seems negligible; at the very least he’s starting to tan a little now that the initial sunburn has faded, although more than anything it seems to have brought his freckles out with a vengeance.

He still stands out as a foreigner everywhere he goes, but he hasn’t gotten lost in Claustra in a while and he feels like he’s finally starting to settle in — especially since he’s picking up a little Italian.

Now, if he could just get over his crush, everything would be peachy.

To make matters worse, after work one evening a few days later, he comes home to find the house bustling with loud chatter. Among the familiar voices of the Amicitia family there’s another he doesn’t recognise: a woman’s voice, a little higher in pitch than Alessia’s, but dusky and sweet.

His stomach contracts with dread. There’s one person he imagines that voice belongs to, and it’s the last person he wants to see. He makes for the stairs, hoping to slip up to his room without being noticed; he barely has his foot on the bottom step before Alessia’s calling out to him and waving him over.

‘There he is,’ she says. ‘Prompto, come for dinner! I need my helper’s magic touch.’

A sigh escapes his lips before he can help himself. He’s not getting away so easily, after all.

‘Sure thing, Alessia,’ he calls, as brightly as he can muster. ‘Just lemme wash up.’

He takes his time dropping his things up to his room and getting ready. Through the window, he can hear everybody already gathering outside; there’s Clarus’s deep voice, Iris’s childish laughter. He hears Gladiolus say something lengthy in Accordan, and the woman’s voice from earlier answers in a teasing tone.

At least they’re out of the kitchen, so he and Alessia can work without an audience once he arrives downstairs. Mostly it’s just chopping vegetables and grabbing things out of the fridge, but it gives Prompto something of a distraction. Anything to stop him from looking out the window is welcome at this point.

Once dinner’s done, they enlist Clarus’s help in serving everything up. An extra chair has been drafted up to the table and beside Gladiolus sits a girl with dark hair piled into a tight bun atop her head. Gladiolus has his arm around her, and she leans a little into his touch.

As Prompto takes his seat beside Iris, he hears his name on Gladiolus’s lips amid a stream of Accordan; when he surreptitiously looks up, the girl is looking over at him with interest.

‘I’m Giulia,’ she says, extending her hand brazenly across the table. He has no choice but to shake it.

‘Prompto,’ he says meekly. ‘It’s… nice to meet you.’

Now that he’s got a chance to get a better look at her, he finds her covered in tattoos — almost as much as Gladiolus. Vibrant flowers scroll over her arms, wrapping from her shoulders all the way down to her wrists. Her makeup looks like it could have been done by a professional, and her lips are a deep-red pout.

She’s beautiful. Prompto’s not sure if he’s more in awe of her or jealous of her spot in Gladiolus’s arms.

‘Giulia’s a _model,’_ Iris announces.

_Of course she is._

Giulia laughs, throwing her head back.

‘Not exactly,’ she says. ‘I’m a beauty ambassador.’

‘Like on Instagram?’ Prompto blurts, wide-eyed. ‘That’s a real thing?’

He regrets it right away, of course, when all sets of eyes fall on him.

‘I mean,’ he says. ‘Does that… pay well?’

Giulia gives a shrug. She doesn’t seem offended, at least, so maybe Prompto didn’t stick his foot in it too badly.

‘I get products and stuff to review,’ she says. ‘I got a real job to pay the bills — bartending.’

‘I worked in a bar when I was in the college,’ Alessia quips. ‘For a little while, anyways.’

Beside her, Clarus groans and covers his face with his hands.

Prompto picks up on it right away, grateful for the chance to change the subject — he leans toward Alessia and Clarus and looks shrewdly between the two of them.

‘There’s a story here, isn’t there?’ he says. ‘Why do I feel like there’s a story here?’

Alessia wears a mischievous smile; Clarus only buries his face deeper in his hands.

‘Clarus and I were separated,’ she says. ‘Some stupid fight about… ah, who knows? I got a job at a bar in Altissia while I studied fine art, to help to pay the tuition. I worked there only two or three weeks before Clarus showed up one night. He was already drunk, and he was bothering _everybody_ there: telling them I was the most beautiful woman he ever met, asking my coworker to talk to me for him. I was so close to throwing him out.’

‘But you didn’t,’ Gladiolus says. There’s a fond look, like he’s heard this story a thousand times before, but never tires of hearing it.

‘You should have,’ Clarus mumbles behind his hands.

Alessia laughs. Gently, affectionately, she lifts her hand to her husband’s head and rakes her fingertips over his scalp.

‘He was trying so hard to impress me,’ she says. ‘I was mad at him, but it was a little bit sweet, too. So when he asked my coworker what he could do to win my heart again, she told him to sing a song to me.’

Judging by the fact that Clarus still hasn’t looked up from his hands, Prompto guesses he went along with the suggestion. Now he’s more than a little invested, and just as he leans in closer to here more, he sees Giulia perk up with interest.

‘How did it go, _cuore mio?’_ Alessia asks, glancing at her husband. _‘Ma vedrai un altro me…’_

From behind Clarus’s hands comes the muffled strains of a song.

 _‘Ma vedrai un altro me in un sogno fragile_  
_Riderai come se_  
_Non ti avessi amato mai_  
_Cercherai un altro me_  
_Oltre all’ombra di un caffè_  
_Troverai solo me_  
_Se mi fermo un attimo io non so più chi sei.’_

His singing voice isn’t half bad, if a little shaky. When he lifts his face, his cheeks are red; Alessia rewards him for his serenade with a kiss on his cheek.

 _‘Ma va!’_ Giulia says, her eyes sparkling with delight. _‘Che romantico!_ Did you take him back?’

‘No,’ Alessia deadpans.

‘You would have, I know it,’ Clarus says proudly. ‘They called me the best singer in all of Accordo, once.’

‘Maybe,’ Alessia reports, sounding unconvinced, ‘but you’re the worst _dancer._ You climbed on the top of the bar, and you were so drunk that you fell and broke everything around you on your way down.’

‘It took me months to make it up to her after I made her lose her job,’ Clarus says sheepishly.

When he turns to look at his wife, there’s such an intense look of love — of longing, even after all these years together — that it makes Prompto’s heart ache.

‘I did it in the end, though,’ Clarus says. ‘I won you back.’

Gladiolus and Iris may have heard the story before, but they seem no less moved by it than if it were the first time. Iris cups her chin in her hands, head tilted to the side as she looks at her parents; Gladiolus wears a big, goofy grin that says even a tough guy like him can be impressed by romance.

‘Enough about that,’ Clarus says suddenly, clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s eat!’

Everyone’s attention turns to the food spread out across the table, and for a while the only sounds are the clink of serving utensils and soft requests to pass items to one another.

Across from Prompto, Giulia leans close to Gladiolus and whispers something in his ear. Prompto tries not to look as she nips playfully at his earlobe; try as he might, he can’t ignore the low chuckle Gladiolus gives in response, and the way it gouges at Prompto’s chest.

* * *

Conversation goes on long after everybody’s plates are empty. After Clarus shuffles a reluctant Iris off to bed, Alessia cracks another bottle of wine and before Prompto can think to make his escape, she’s topped up his glass.

There are more stories to be told from Alessia and Clarus’s courtship — some funny, some endlessly endearing, all memorable — and Gladiolus and Giulia respectively share embarrassing tales from their own dating histories.

Prompto doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed that he doesn’t have much experience in that respect, or relieved that the focus isn’t on him. As it is, he manages to fade well enough into the background as the conversation wears on.

Eventually, Prompto makes his excuses — assignments to work on, and so on — and slips away to his room.

He can still hear the talking and laughter outside his window once he’s in bed. Normally, the soft, distant sounds of conversation would be soothing; whenever Gladiolus’s voice rings out, however, it makes Prompto’s stomach twist into knots.

He knows it’s hopeless. Knows it’s pathetic, to keep pining over somebody who’s taken and clearly isn’t interested. The more he heard of Clarus and Alessia’s fairytale romance over wine, the more he had found himself longing for it for himself — and the less plausible it had seemed that anybody would ever look at him the way they looked at each other.

When it becomes obvious that sleep isn’t going to happen any time soon, he slips his laptop out from under his bed and loads up an episode of the anime he’s been watching.

He’s through two twenty-minute episodes, waiting through the loading screen between videos, when he realises that the night has plunged into silence. As the next episode buffers, he hears the creak of floorboards under someone’s weight just outside his room, and the hushed sound of murmuring voices.

There’s a girlish giggle and an exaggerated _‘Sssh!’_ before Gladiolus’s door clicks shut a little too hard. He hears the squeaking of mattress springs and a soft thump as the bed knocks against the wall between their rooms; a moment later there’s more giggling and this time Prompto can hear Gladiolus’s voice, soft but rich enough to carry through the wall, chiding his companion.

Prompto tries his best to tune it out. He might not be experienced, but he knows enough to be able to tell where things are headed in the room next door. That’s the _last_ thing he wants to listen in on.

For a while, it’s enough to focus on the subtitles and the voices of the characters speaking in Japanese — until it’s not.

It starts with another thud, and some more laughter; this time the sound cuts off with a moan that sets the hairs standing up on the back of Prompto’s neck in spite of himself. When he hears the bed springs creak under a heavier weight — Gladiolus’s, he figures — and the teasing rumble of Gladiolus’s voice, he decides enough is enough.

He plugs a set off headphones into the jack and shoves them onto his head. The improvement is immediate.

When his eyes grow too heavy an hour later and he shuts his laptop off, there are still _sounds_ going on in the other room, harder to pick out for what they are, but somehow that only makes it worse as his imagine starts to fill in the blanks.

With a huff he crams his pillow down over his ears and hunches up facing the wall, praying that they’ll be done sometime before the sun rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics listed in this chapter are from Italy's Eurovision entry for 2011, the song 'Follia d'amore', for which this fic is named; for the purposes of the plot, the song is originally much older, in order to line up with Alessia and Clarus's college years.
> 
> The lyrics translate as follows:
> 
> _And in another fragile dream you'll see another me_  
>  _You'll laugh as if_  
>  _I had never loved you_  
>  _You'll search for another me_  
>  _Beyond the shadow of a coffee_  
>  _You'll find only me_  
>  _If I stop for a moment, I don't know who you are any more._
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Even after the room next to his had quietened down, Prompto’s brain had decided to gift him with images of Gladiolus and Giulia together, in a variety of positions. Sometimes, whenever he’d drift off for the briefest of moments, it’d be  _ him _ with Gladiolus; it’d be  _ his _ moans filling the silence.

Those dreams were almost worse than reality.

He was a zombie for much of the next day, making stupid, sloppy mistakes at work that Ignis seems to have little patience for. By the time Prompto got back home, all he was fit to do was crash out face-first on his bed and sink into glorious oblivion.

Class provides him with a much-needed distraction on Friday, at least: a glorious few hours without Gladiolus, or Giulia, or anybody to remind him how pathetic he is.

He has a shift at the bookstore after, and since his schedule has mostly lined up opposite Gladiolus’s recently, he doesn’t have to worry about running into the guy there, either.

Il Calamaio could hardly ever be called busy, but somehow business is good enough to keep Ignis’s store in the black. The books they sell cater to casual readers, students and bibliophiles alike; if Prompto had the attention span for reading, he’d probably come here too for its quaint atmosphere and pleasant service.

‘I need you to do a little of everything today,’ Ignis says, barely glancing up from his tablet as Prompto moves about getting ready for his shift. ‘There was a glitch with our last order, so we’ve received  _ fourteen _ copies of each of the books we requested, not  _ four. _ It’s a bit of a bother to try to rectify.’

It turns out he’s not exaggerating; an entire pallet of books sits by the door down to the basement, the shrink wrap sealing it only opened at one corner before Ignis apparently discovered the error.

‘Why didn’t you just send them back?’ Prompto asks.

Ignis glances up from his tablet, meeting his eye for the first time since Prompto arrived. His icy glance is enough to make Prompto wither a little.

‘I attempted to, I assure you,’ Ignis says. ‘The delivery driver was a rather bull-headed man, however, and he insisted that it wasn’t his problem.’

Prompto knows better than to press Ignis while he’s in a bad mood. He wonders if the guy’s as uptight outside of business hours.

While Prompto tends to the list of tasks set out for him, Ignis pores diligently over the screen of his tablet. He seems to be on some customer service page, simultaneously awaiting a rep to chat with online, while on hold to another on the bluetooth piece he wears on his ear. From time to time, the man prattles off rapid-fire Italian, only to cut off suddenly and give a muttered oath as he’s seemingly placed on hold once more.

There are orders to be placed — in a fit of paranoia, Prompto makes sure that the erroneous order wasn’t his fault, but according to the invoice it was placed by Gladiolus and seems to check out — shelves to be stocked, and displays to be dusted.

Although Ignis lingers nearby in case he’s needed, Prompto’s mostly left up to his own devices; when a little girl strays from her father to ask for help picking out a children’s book, he’s able to cobble together enough broken Italian to help her find what she’s looking for, and he leaves the exchange feeling more than a little proud of himself.

It’s almost closing time when the door opens, and Prompto groans internally. Ignis is down in the basement trying once more to get through to the help desk  — after getting through to a customer service rep finally, he’d managed to resolve the issue, only to discover upon unpacking the order that some of the books they’d ordered were missing — so Prompto’s left alone to deal with whatever issues this latecomer may have.

He’s steeling himself, putting on his best  _ How can I help you? _ face when the customer steps in, and he realises it’s Gladiolus’s friend, Marta.

He’s glad to see her, he decides, as recognition crosses her face and she flashes a smile. She crosses the store and steps up to the counter with a swish of her long hair.

‘Hey, Prompto, right?’

He nods. He’d be flattered that she remembers him, but he doubts many of her friends have taken in exchange students recently.

‘Is Gladio here?’ she asks. ‘I thought he said he will be working today.’

Prompto tries not to visibly flinch at the sound of Gladiolus’s name.

‘Yesterday,’ he replies. ‘Are you back in town to see your…  _ nonna _ again?’

Marta splits into a rueful grin and uses her hands to push her hair out of her face.

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Always she’s telling me she wants to fatten me up. I can’t complain about the free food.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a grandma who didn’t love feeding her grandkids,’ Prompto says with a laugh. ‘I, uh — I think Gladiolus is at home, if you wanted to see him?’

Marta inspects her wrist, where a silver watch contrasts with her tanned skin. For a moment she taps her foot, then looks up at Prompto.

‘You’re closin’ soon, yes?’ she asks. ‘I can wait and walk with you.’

Taken aback as Prompto is at the offer, he finds himself nodding along eagerly. He likes Marta already — she’s been nothing but nice to him so far. It might be good to have some company on his walk home.

She kills time browsing the shelves while she waits, and buys herself vitamin water right before Ignis takes off register. They seem to know each other already, and they chat idly while Ignis begins closing up, switching between English and Accordan as though it were second nature.

‘I can finish up here, Prompto,’ Ignis says. ‘Why don’t you head off now?’

Prompto doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth — he has his stuff gathered and heads for the door with Marta in under a minute, and they wave goodbye to Ignis before heading into the clammy heat of the evening.

‘How long have you and Gladiolus known each other?’ Prompto asks as they walk. The heat is oppressive, but he does his best to act like it doesn’t faze him as he goes.

_ ‘Gladiolus,’ _ Marta echoes, flashing her straight teeth in a grin. ‘It’s so strange to hear it like that.’

Prompto feels his cheeks heat. It’s a mouthful, but referring to the guy as  _ Gladio _ seems a little too personal.

‘His  _ mamma’s _ friends with mine,’ Marta explains. ‘We didn’t really make friends until secondary school — we were the two gettin’ up to trouble for every class. The teachers would make us sit away from each other but we’re always doin’ it anyway.’

Sounds a little like school with Noct, Prompto figures. He couldn’t count the number of times one or both of them got yelled at for disrupting the class, only to do the exact same thing a week after being punished for it.

‘That’s cool,’ he remarks. ‘That your moms go way back, I mean.’

He wonders, idly, if the two have ever been more than friends. It seems reasonable to him to expect that a good looking girl and her good looking male friend would hook up at some point; it used to happen all the time with his peers, to the point that he had trouble keeping track with who was stepping out with whom.

He figures it’d be a weird thing to ask, especially with Gladiolus already seeing somebody, so he keeps it to himself.

When they get to the door of the Amicitias’ home, Marta stuffs her hands into the pockets of her tight-fitting jeans while she waits for Prompto to grab his keys. Even though she’s dressed a little more casually than the first time they met, she’s still pretty in her off-the-shoulder shirt with her hair in messy waves around her face.

Gladiolus’s gravelly voice floats out from the kitchen as they get in; that’s Prompto’s cue to leave, but Marta stops him before he can get far.

‘We’re havin’ a party at my apartment the next Saturday,’ she says. ‘But it’s in Altissia, if you’re gonna come.’

For the second time this evening she’s managed to catch him out entirely. Prompto isn’t used to somebody going to such lengths to make him feel welcome, and while he’s not typically the party-going type, he can almost imagine it being fun, if Marta’s roommates are anything like her.

‘No problem,’ he says cheerily. ‘I can figure it out.’

Gladiolus seems to have realised Marta’s here; he’s heading down the narrow hallways between the kitchen and the foyer, and now it really  _ is _ time for Prompto to go.

‘I’ll… Facebook you!’ he says, scurrying up the stairs. ‘See you then!’

It occurs to him before he’s rounded the corner of the first landing of the stairs that he doesn’t have Marta on Facebook, or even know her last name to find out. He’s in such haste to get away that he doesn’t care; all that matters is getting safely upstairs before he has to spend even a single awkward moment in Gladiolus’s presence.

* * *

Prompto gets a Facebook request from Marta not long after she’s gone home; it pops ups while he’s working through repetitive exercises given to him by his instructors at the language school. He’s barely done clicking  _ Accept _ on the request before an invite comes through for the party in question. The banner for the event is a picture of Marta and, presumably, her roommates — they’re all wearing faux supermodel pouts for the camera, even the two guys in the shot.

He scrolls down to accept the invite, pausing when he sees Gladiolus’s name in the little list of people attending. It makes sense that Gladiolus would be going — they’re friends, after all — but seeing his name there makes Prompto feel ill at the thought of going.

He doesn’t know why he’s being such a jackass about it. They were managing to get along with each other just fine before Prompto knew Giulia was in the picture; functionally, nothing has changed between.

Even though he knows better, he clicks on the list to see who else is attending. He doesn’t have to scroll very far before he sees Giulia’s name there, her profile picture a shot of her wearing oversized sunglasses and blowing a kiss to the camera.

With a steadily worsening feeling of unease, he closes his laptop and pushes it aside. He’d been genuinely excited about going along and maybe making some friends — now he’s not so sure.

He thinks he can hear Gladiolus moving around in the room next door. Suddenly, his own room seems too small — too close to Gladiolus. He’d distract himself with anime or a movie, but he knows it’d be futile in the end.

Before he knows it, he’s on his feet and stripping out of his jeans, hunting out the tight-fitting pants he wears for jogging. They’re the kind that wick moisture away from his skin, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about overheating; his tank’s probably going to get drenched in sweat anyway so he doesn’t bother changing it.

The house is mysteriously quiet for once, with Clarus working late, and Alessia and Iris at the movies. Prompto’s free to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and head out without saying his goodbyes.

Now that it’s almost dark out, the heat has abated somewhat — there’s even a little bit of a pleasant breeze as he slips on his headphones and takes off at a slow pace.

He’s been in Claustra long enough that he’s worked out a jogging route around the town, winding through the more populated central districts and out to the quieter suburbs. Claustra might not be dense, but it makes up for it in area; he’s yet to make a full circuit of the town so he decides to tack twenty minutes extra onto his route today.

With the pounding beat of his jogging playlist drilling into his skull, it’s easy enough to slip into the monotony of the run and tune out his thoughts where they threaten to turn to Gladiolus. 

By the time Prompto gets back to the house, his limbs are trembling with the exertion and he feels exhilarated. It hasn’t  _ fixed _ any of his problems, but he feels a little better about them. Even the thought of going to Marta’s party after all seems a little less daunting — whether Gladiolus is there with Giulia or not, it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy himself, too.

The bathroom’s occupied when he gets up to his floor and he can hear the water running, so a shower’s probably out. He’s pretty sure he stinks but it’s not like he’ll be seeing anybody else tonight, so he strips out of his clothes when he gets into his room and sinks under the covers in his undies.

The only downside to jogging, and the endorphins they bring? The comedown.

It isn’t long before he’s restless and bored, and mindlessly scrolling through social media isn’t enough to distract him. When he listens out, the sound of running water seems to have ceased in the bathroom; after a little dilly-dallying, he decides that maybe a shower might help wind him down enough for sleep.

The bathroom’s still steamy and warm after Gladiolus, the mirror fogged up with a slight outline around where he must have wiped a patch clear to look into the glass. On the mat in front of the sink, there are two damp spots; it’s weird for Prompto to think Gladiolus was standing there, just a few minutes earlier.

He sets his towel aside and turns for the mirror, using the flat of his hand to wipe away the condensation enough to get a look at himself.

While he’s not quite at Gladiolus’s level of gains, he’s not exactly scrawny, either. After dropping so much weight in middle school he was always a little gawky, but he grew into himself by junior year with a combination of running and strength training.

Still — there are days when he hates what he sees when he looks in the mirror. His wrists are so slender he can clasp them between a finger and thumb; his collarbone stands out prominently under his freckled skin, his shoulders bony. Stretch marks lace across his stomach, faded somewhat a few years after all the rapid weight gain and loss and growth spurts, but there nonetheless.

He wonders if Gladiolus ever looks into this mirror and doesn’t like what he sees.  _ Doubtful. _ It’s hard to imagine Gladiolus accepting anything less than perfection from himself, and by all rights he seems to have attained it.

Unbidden, images pop into Prompto’s head of the selfie Gladiolus posted on Facebook, and of the time he ran into the guy in a towel. He’s only a couple years older than Prompto, but he’s got a man’s physique; figures he’d snatch up somebody as beautiful as Giulia, no problem.

Sighing, Prompto turns away from the mirror and climbs into the tub, tugging the shower curtain across.

As he stands under the spray of water, he wars with his own mind as thoughts of Gladiolus keep skittering across it. He tries to focus on something,  _ anything _ else, even relying on his age-old trick of reading the back of the shampoo bottles, but when he picks up a bottle of shower gel and the scent drifts out from the open lid, he realises his mistake.

It’s the stuff Gladiolus uses; he can tell as much from the smell of it. It’s spicy and sweet, super manly, and even the faintest whiff of the stuff fills Prompto’s head with images of the guy. Heat winds through him, spiralling down between his legs, and his dick twitches to life before he can think to turn his thoughts to something else.

He could jerk off, but… something seems weird about doing it in the shower that he shares with Gladiolus. The guy’s probably done it in here himself before —  _ that _ train of thought is dangerous territory, so Prompto steers thoroughly clear — but given that it’s his home, he’s entitled.

Sighing, Prompto moves to set the bottle aside, hesitating as he’s about to slot it back onto the shelves in the corner. After a moment’s pause, he upends the bottle and squeezes a little of the cola-coloured liquid into the palm of his hand before lathering it up.

The smell enshrouds him, and if he closes his eyes it’s almost like Gladiolus is in there with him. His cock gives another throb, and he knows it would be  _ so easy _ to take care of himself and wash the mess away down the drain.

_ No. _ That’s a line he doesn’t feel cool with crossing just yet.

He manages to fend off the urges until he’s done showering, and by the time he’s got his towel wrapped around his waist he thinks it’s safe enough for him to step out into the hallway without any embarrassing incidents. 

His room is oppressively hot after the warmth of the shower, so he throws open the window as he towels off and grabs a fresh pair of undies before climbing on top of the covers. He doesn’t much feel like sleeping now, not with his mind wide awake once more after thoughts of Gladiolus, so he spends a while with the light on, dicking around on social media.

Noct’s name is online, but as he hovers over it, Prompto talks himself down from opening up a chat. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy talking with his friend — he always does. He’s just in that weird, restless headspace where he’d probably do little more than trade memes until  _ way _ after he should’ve hit the hay.

He signs out of messenger altogether and tabs over to Tumblr. If nothing else, maybe he can get started on updating his photography blog with the snaps he’s taken of Claustra.

That idea goes out the window once he winds up on his dashboard. There’s fan art from some of his favourite anime; behind the scenes shots from the new superhero movie he’s following; personal posts from some of his mutuals. He scrolls past a particularly lengthy post about shipping wars — something he steers  _ entirely _ clear of — only to wind up on a picture of a shirtless guy draped artfully in flowers, his chin lifted in a cocky smirk.

He’s good looking enough to give Prompto pause: muscular and tanned, with gorgeous dark hair and dark eyes. Come to think of it, he looks a little like Gladiolus…

_ Nope. _ Not going there.

He manages to scroll down a few more posts before curiosity draws him back up. After a little hesitation, chewing his lip all the while, he shares it on his personal blog before moving on.

He’s got it bad for Gladiolus, sure, but a pretty picture’s a pretty picture.

When he realises he’s not going to get his blog updated any time soon, he closes Tumblr.

It’s idly, and without any real intent, that his mind wanders back to the picture. In his mind’s eye, it’s easier to imagine Gladiolus featuring in it — his hair longer, hanging in loose waves. Prompto’s cock twinges, stirring under the cotton of his boxer-briefs. Almost out of habit, he moves a hand to it and gives it a lazy stroke before pulling his touch away.

‘C’monnnn, dude,’ he mutters to himself. ‘Don’t be weird about it.’

He figures maybe he can sleep it off, so he moves to shut off his laptop — but then he finds himself loading up that picture again, and even if he’s not mentally ‘shopping Gladiolus’s face onto the guy, it’s still pretty goddamn hot as it is.

It’s all too easy to picture the model looking at  _ him _ with those same bedroom eyes, and once Prompto sets off on that particular track he knows he’s probably not getting to sleep any time soon.

He looks at the picture as he grinds the heel of his palm into his cock, and  _ maybe _ he reluctantly allows his brain to fill in the guy’s face with Gladiolus’s instead, and  _ maybe _ it just makes it feel that little bit better to think of him.

Prompto sighs and drops his head against the wall behind him. He doesn’t  _ want _ to do this, but his body seems to have other ideas — and it’s not like he has anything better to do.

He wonders if there’s anything good on one of his usual free porn sites; opens an incognito tab and hits one of them before he has to think too much about it. When he navigates over to the  _ Gay _ category there are a few weirder thumbnails of various kinks at the start of the listing, but he scrolls down and finds something that looks interesting.

If he’s intentionally going for ones that feature muscular men — guys who remind him of Gladiolus — he doesn’t dwell on it. Even as he hits play on a clip of a guy with a tribal tattoo that looks a little like Gladiolus’s, featuring a minute of jerking off, he resigns himself to the inevitable.

Prompto pulls the waistband of his undies down and lets his cock spring out half-hard. After a few languid strokes, and a couple loops of the video clip, it’s not long before it’s rigid in his grasp.

Another clip, this one of a built dude and a smaller guy sensually kissing each other while their hands rove across one another’s bodies. With this one, as he moves his fist over himself, he looks down to see a bead of precum dribble out from his slit. He smooths it over the head of his cock and moves onto the next video.

In this one, there’s a dark-haired guy with intense eyes, pushing another man down onto his front. With one hand stroking his own cock, he uses the other to spread his partner’s cheeks and leans in, dipping his tongue in between them.

Without warning, Prompto’s dick throbs, and a little gasp escapes his lips. He’s gotta try harder to be quiet; he bites his lip and keeps watching, his hand picking up in its efforts.

The guys in the clip don’t keep at it for long — it’s a preview to a paid video on some other sites, with spliced-together highlights from the full thing. Prompto skips back to the beginning and watches again as the first guy slips his tongue into the other’s ass, and as the recipient gives a desperate moan Prompto feels his ass clench in sympathy.

_ Fuck, _ how good that must feel. He wets his lips and pauses the video, closing his eyes and leaning back as he imagines himself in the guy’s place.

He knows he could get off pretty quickly with that mental image alone, but somehow it feels like a waste. He slows the pace of his hand down, and with his other hand he eases his boxer-briefs down, lifting his hips a little so he can slip them free. They’re down around his thighs when he finds himself absently stroking his balls, and guiding his fingers down between his legs. When his fingertips brush his entrance, he feels pleasure coil up deep within him.

That settles it. He releases his hold on himself and wriggles out of his undies, tossing them aside. His laptop’s just getting in the way now so he shuts the lid and sets it down beside the bed before turning onto his front, resting up on his knees.

His hand finds his cock again, the other skirting first over his thighs and then reaching back to his ass. He fills his head with images from the video, of the guy burying his face in the mattress to stifle his groans. Pictures himself in his place again, and this time it’s Gladiolus using a strong hand to open his cheeks; Gladiolus’s adept tongue teasing his entrance.

He’s past the point of caring that it’s Gladiolus in his head again as he jerks off — past the point of overthinking. He chooses instead to enjoy it, to hurry his strokes along a little on his dick, using pre-cum as makeshift lube.

He doesn’t know what makes him think of it — maybe it’s the slick feel of pre-cum beading under his fingertips, maybe it’s the video — but an image springs into his mind of Gladiolus eating that apricot at the table outside, the juice rolling down his tanned forearm. Prompto plays it out in slow motion, watching Gladiolus’s perfect lips press to the flesh of the fruit as his teeth sink into it; hears the wet sound of Gladiolus sucking the juice into his mouth.

His cock practically  _ jumps; _ with this scene in mind, he quickly lifts his hand to his mouth and uses spit to slick his fingers up before guiding it back down behind him.

He wonders what kind of sounds Gladiolus would make between his legs; if he’d moan as he eased his tongue within. Huffing out a breath against the sheets, Prompto slips the tip of one finger inside himself, opening his legs a little wider apart to make it easier.

Even this contact is unbearable, makes him desperate for more. He moves his hand over his cock at a frantic pace before he almost spills then and there, and suddenly holds off, gripping the base of his erection to stop himself.

For a while, he just teases his ass, working his fingertip slowly in and out. He wonders if he could take more — he’s never really tried.

He takes his hand out and looks around his room for inspiration. There’s lotion on top of his drawers, but it’s scented and he’s pretty sure that’s a bad idea all round. When his eyes land on the pot of Vaseline on his nightstand, he figures it’s good enough.

Scooping out a decent amount, he smears the stuff liberally around his opening, then dips a finger in and works it around, stretching himself out. His dick’s going untouched, but he could’ve fooled himself — as his finger works his cock throbs and twitches, and he itches to relieve the ache.

He adds a second finger before long, and it’s slow going — at first all he can do is sink his fingers in and keep them there as he uses his other hand to finally stroke himself, moving more lazily, more carefully this time. He contracts around his fingers with every few strokes, and involuntarily he pushes his hips back toward his hand. He imagines Gladiolus there, gripping his ass; grinds his hips slowly in the air as though it were Gladiolus touching him and not his own fingers.

His lubed-up fingers make slick sounds as he guides them in and out again, and he adds to the chorus with little moans of pleasure as he begins the steady process of coaxing himself along.

As his entrance relaxes, it’s easier to thrust his fingers within himself. As he goes deeper, the feeling of being filled up is so good he almost comes right off the bat and has to count back from ten to calm down.

He focuses on his cock awhile, sweeping his thumb over the slit to gather up a little pre-cum again; lifts his hand to his mouth where his cheek’s pressed into the sheets, and darts his tongue out to taste it.

After a beat he’s touching himself again, and when he’s ready he starts working his fingers carefully into himself once more. Again, he grinds his hips back as if Gladiolus were the one tending to him, and soon he’s thinking of the apricot again, and Gladio’s tongue, and his lips curving into an arrogant smirk as though he knows  _ exactly _ what he’s doing.

Gladio’s tongue deep within him, or his cock — Prompto can’t decide which he wants more right now. He’d give the world and more to have either, to have Gladio’s hand closed around his erection instead of his own, to have the feel of the man’s lips brushing down his spine. He’s so close now, and he’s not fighting it any more, just working himself faster and faster as he fills his head with Gladio, his lips issuing plaintive little sounds now, his ass thrust into the air.

It happens too quickly for him to register — the door clicking open, the squeak of the floorboards under somebody’s weight, the startled grunt. He has enough time to look back and see Gladiolus’s face disappearing as the door closes in front of him, his eyes wide with surprise.

Gladiolus shuts the door with a bang, the sudden sound resonating through the stillness of the room. Prompto’s not stroking himself any more, but he can’t quite bring himself to move, either. 

Maybe if he stays perfectly still, everything will be okay.

Outside, he hears Gladiolus’s tread retreating back into his room, and the thud of his own door colliding with the frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Ahhhh in my excitement to post I forgot to thank the thirsty folks on the Promptio server for the inspiration with the apricot scene ty ily <3333
> 
> Oh! And [fairygodpiggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairygodpiggy/pseuds/fairygodpiggy) for the nudge to have Gladio walk in on poor Prompto ;)


	7. Chapter 7

If Prompto can say anything good about himself, it’s that he’s become a pro at dodging people. In the days since the  _ incident, _ he’s managed to avoid having a single conversation with Gladiolus, and even gotten timing when he leaves the house so he doesn’t run into the guy down to a T.

It’s hard to sit down at meals with the rest of the family and look them in the eye after the fact — he knows, realistically, that Gladiolus would have no reason to share what he saw with  _ any _ of them, but he still can’t shake the paranoia that they somehow  _ know _ — and whenever Gladiolus shows up to the table out on the patio, Prompto always manages to make himself scarce.

He wonders how long he can keep it up. Maybe he can go the rest of his stay without ever sharing more than a few words with the guy.

He’d considered hopping on a plane home the day after it happened, but it had been Noct who convinced him not to — but not before laughing raucously when Prompto had filled him in.

‘You can’t let this screw up your vacation,’ Noct had said. ‘It’s only, like, the third most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done, right?’

At least Prompto’s working today, so he’ll be out of the house. Gladiolus hasn’t made a peep all morning; Prompto figures he’s sleeping in late, which suits him just fine.

He shoves on some sweats and a tank after his shower, towels his hair dry and pins it back out of his face, too lazy to bother with straightening it. 

After grabbing a power breakfast of Pop-Tarts and juice, he heads out the door. It’s a little cooler this morning, the heat of the day yet to set in in earnest; he sets off at an easy jog, glad at least for the distraction.

The store’s dim when he gets there, not yet opened up. That in itself isn’t necessarily cause for concern — it’s not even nine yet — but it’s not like Ignis to cut things so close to the line. He uses his own key to unlock the door and slips in, glancing around for any sign of life.

‘Ignis?’ he calls. ‘You there?’

Maybe today’s some public holiday he doesn’t know about; it’s not entirely unlike him to forget something like that. When he ducks around to the back, however, he sees the lights on within, and hears sounds in the tiny kitchenette.

‘It’s like eight-forty,’ he says, poking his head around the opening into the little room. ‘You need a hand openi—’

It’s not Ignis within, though: it’s Gladiolus.

He looks groggy and bad-tempered as he turns around, a mug of what smells like insanely strong coffee in his grasp. When his eyes meet Prompto’s, they momentarily widen before he hurriedly turns away.

‘Oh,’ Prompto says dumbly. ‘I didn’t know you were working today.’

‘Ignis had an emergency,’ Gladiolus replies.

Prompto swallows.

‘Oh.’

This is the closest they’ve been in days — and the first time they’ve been in each other’s company alone, other than the rare moments Prompto’s had to duck past the guy on his way out of the house.

Even though Gladiolus is facing away from him, he feels like he might as well be under scrutiny from the guy. He tries, and fails, not to imagine what he must be thinking:  _ Great, it’s the pervert. I’m stuck with him all day. What a freak. _

Either the room suddenly got hotter, or Prompto’s blushing, as per freaking usual. With a vague sound by way of parting, he steps out of the room and heads out front to begin opening.

He runs through everything as he works — how feasible it’d be to feign sickness and head home, how long he should stick it out, whether he should just try to clear the air with Gladiolus… The latter, at least, is something he  _ definitely _ doesn’t want to do; it’s bad enough that Gladiolus caught him in the middle of…  _ that, _ without reminding him about it.

Even just thinking about it in such abstract terms is enough for Gladiolus’s face to pop into his head, and the stunned look on his face that night, just visible through the gap in the door, plays out in Prompto’s mind in perfect clarity.

So he won’t mention it, and hopefully Gladiolus will be cool enough to pretend it never happened. And maybe, if they’re both lucky, they can get through the day without interacting.

The smell of scorched coffee beans drifts into the main room of the store, signalling Gladiolus’s arrival. As Prompto lifts the blinds on the windows he tries to keep his head low to avoiding catching his eye, and works quickly and quietly as he can.

They manage to get through opening without any incident, and once it’s nine Prompto’s able to retreat down to the basement to begin his tasks for the day, safely keeping him out of Gladiolus’s path.

<hr>

‘It’s dead today,’ Gladiolus says around eleven, ducking his head into the back where Prompto sits cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of second-hand books dropped in recently. ‘Gonna close up for a little while. You want anythin’ from next door?’

Prompto blinks up at his coworker. It’s not unusual for them to close briefly during the store’s downtime, but for Gladiolus to offer to pick something up for him feels… weird. Prompto figures the guy’s just trying to make things a little less awkward; he appreciates the attempt.

‘Nah, that’s okay,’ he replies with a shrug.

With a terse nod, Gladiolus turns to go.

Prompto’s engrossed in his work again, inspecting a tear on the cover of some trashy romance novel that he’s  _ pretty _ sure must have wound up in here by accident, when he realises that Gladiolus still hasn’t left. That telltale heat prickles at his face again, as though he’s being watched, and when he glances up Gladiolus is leaning against the wall facing him.

‘Marta invited you to her party, eh?’ Gladiolus says gruffly. He’s not quite meeting Prompto’s eye, his gaze trained somewhere around Prompto’s shoulder.

Prompto’s stomach clenches. Is Gladiolus gonna tell him not to go?

‘Yeah,’ he says, his heart in his throat as he turns his glance back down the book in his hand, pretending to be more interested in it than he is. ‘Probably won’t go, though.’

‘You won’t?’

Gladiolus doesn’t sound  _ relieved, _ just… surprised. When Prompto forces himself to look up, the guy’s scratching at the nape of his neck, just beneath where his hair is twisted into a knot.

‘I dunno,’ Prompto replies flippantly. ‘It’s probably gonna be weird, right? I don’t speak any Italian, and Marta’s the only person I’ll know…’

‘You know me,’ Gladiolus interjects.

For a long, stunned moment, Prompto can do little more than stare at Gladiolus where he’s still artfully avoiding looking him in the eye. The guy’s either got an angle, or he’s the coolest person in the world trying to make Prompto feel more comfortable after what happened — is he actually trying to convince Prompto to go?

‘I mean, yeah,’ Prompto laughs, awkwardly. ‘But you’ve got your girlfriend, I can’t like… just tag along with you or Marta all night.’

Gladiolus’s broad, tanned shoulders lift in a shrug. He drops his hand from his neck, then after a beat stuffs it into his pocket. Slowly, finally, he lets his eyes lock onto Prompto’s for just a moment before looking down at his boots.

‘You should come,’ he says. ‘Marta’s roommates are cool — you’ll like them, I think. And there’s free drinks.’

Prompto chews his lip. Most likely Gladiolus is just doing this to make him feel better, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. The jury’s still out on whether Prompto will even go, but at least that weird tension between them seems to have lifted slightly.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he says. ‘Thanks.’

Gladiolus inclines his head.

‘I'm drivin',’ he says, ‘if you wanna go. The buses fuckin’ suck at night.’

With a nod, Prompto watches as Gladiolus pivots on his feet and stalks away.

It’s only once he hears the sound of the bell over the front door jingle, followed by the click of the lock engaging, that he puffs out a breath in relief. With Gladiolus gone for a little while, at least he might be able to relax a bit without worrying about running into him.

He stands and stretches out his limbs a little before heading to the kitchenette to grab some water. It’s already starting to get sweltering within the store — he regrets not asking Gladiolus to pick up something cold for him — and the water from the cool faucet is lukewarm. He guzzles it anyway and uses a little water from the faucet to splash onto his face and neck, hardly caring that it dampens the collar of his tank.

It’s kind of nice being in the store all alone; it gives him a chance to wander around and flip through some of the more interesting titles, and he doesn’t have to worry that there might be a customer lurking somewhere ready to catch him off-guard with questions he can’t answer. At least it’s quiet today, and they’ll be closing up for  _ pisolino _ in a while, so he can retreat to his own room at home for a couple hours.

He winds up on his phone while he waits for Gladiolus to return, scrolling through Facebook. Some of Gladiolus’s posts are on his feed, which feels like the algorithm is screwing with him. He spends a little too long trying to decipher some post in Accordan only to realise it’s about a TV show Gladiolus has been watching.

The lock clicks on the door while he’s running through some orders on the system. Even before the door opens, he can hear Gladiolus’s voice — and the exasperated tone to it.

The door opens a crack, and he can hear Accordan drifting through, too fast for him to pick out even the few words he knows. Judging by the way Gladiolus is speaking, though, it sounds like he might be arguing with somebody.

Prompto tenses. This  _ probably _ isn’t something he should be eavesdropping on, so he pushes off from the computer and heads into the kitchenette to give the guy some privacy.

Even though he’s trying not to listen, it’s hard to ignore the way the other man’s voice echoes through the store, steadily escalating in volume and intensity before suddenly dialling back down to an irritated hush.

When he hears Giulia’s name, he finds himself pricking his ears unconsciously. Not long after, something slams,  _ hard, _ before the place plunges into silence again.

He wonders if he should check in on Gladiolus, or give him some space. The latter sounds like a good idea, especially if things got so heated — but then Gladiolus trudges in, and by the time Prompto turns around to face him he can  _ feel _ the tension in the room. The guy’s expression is so dark it seems to hang over the both of them, like a spring waiting to snap; when their eyes meet, just briefly, Gladiolus almost looks like he wants to punch him.

It’s intimidating, to say the least — but then Prompto notices that Gladiolus is nursing his hand as though it’s hurt.

‘You… doin’ okay, big guy?’ Prompto asks tentatively.

With a scowl, the man stalks into the space around Prompto and shoves his hand into the sink, running the cool tap over it. There’s no blood, but his knuckles are red. That probably explains the bang before.

‘It’s nothin’,’ Gladiolus mutters.

If they were friends, Prompto might press him on it — might coax him to open up. They’re not friends, though; Prompto isn’t even sure what they  _ are. _ He gets the distinct feeling he should probably give Gladiolus some room to cool off, at least.

‘I’ll open up the store again,’ Prompto says lightly. Gladiolus’s back is to him where he hunches over the sink, the sound of running water filling the room. ‘If… you’re ready.’

There’s a grunt from Gladiolus, which he takes to be a yes, and Prompto moves to go. He probably couldn’t escape more quickly if somebody lit a fire under him

Something tells him he’s going to be better off keeping out of the guy’s path today, even more so than before. He might not have been able to understand what he’d caught of this end of the fight, but it had sounded  _ bad. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're making progress... I promise! That party's coming up next ;)


	8. Chapter 8

Prompto’s antsy, barely able to sit still. After changing his mind about a dozen times on whether or not to go to the party, Noct had finally convinced him to go for it — and now Gladiolus is late.

The longer Prompto waits for the telltale gurgle of the Fiat, the more anxious he gets, and the more he second-guesses himself. In the humid heat of the late evening he’s starting to sweat underneath the tank he’s wearing, and he can feel it, clammy and gross, where it trickles down the dropped armhole of his shirt.

He’s already nervous. Add  _ sweaty mess _ to the mix and he’s sure it’s not the impression he wants to be making in front of Marta and Gladiolus and Giulia, and a bunch of their friends.

He tries to think what Noct would say, if he were here.  _ You’re overthinking. They’re gonna love you! Just don’t lift up your arms. _

‘Thanks, dude,’ Prompto mutters, to the imaginary version of his friend. ‘Glad I can count on you.’

He cleans up as best he can in the bathroom and sprays himself liberally with deodorant before returning to his anxious perch at the edge of his bed. He’s barely sat down again when he hears the choked sound of Gladiolus’s engine through the open window.

His stomach lurches. It’s now or never — if he’s going to change his mind one last time, he’d better do it now.

When the message pops through on his phone, it’s short and sweet:  _ I’m outside the house. _ He could bail last-minute and come up with some excuse not to go, but Noct would never let him hear the end of it. The more the niggling voice at the back of his head tells him not to go, there’s a part of him that pushes in the other direction.

It’s only once he hops to his feet that he realises he’s made up his mind. Soon he’s pulling on his boots, grabbing his phone and wallet — and the plastic bag filled with cheap drinks, procured specially for the occasion — before slipping out into the hallway.

Gladiolus is idling in the driveway, drumming his hands on the steering wheel while something plays on the stereo. He’s looking off into the distance, his brow furrowed.

Prompto peers into the car as he pulls the front door shut behind him, expecting to see Giulia in the passenger seat — but the car is empty.

‘Where’s Giulia?’ he asks, as he settles into the passenger seat.

The look on Gladiolus’s face makes him regret bringing it up. Maybe this is about that argument on the phone the other day — a part of him is seriously tempted to ask, but with Gladiolus shooting him daggers from a foot away, he decides he values his life more than satisfying his curiosity.

‘Sorry I asked,’ he mutters, looking away.

Gladiolus has a soundtrack of classic rock on the stereo, so at least there’s music to fill the awkward silence. The drive to Altissia seems to take especially long today, though, and Prompto can’t be sure if it’s  _ him, _ or the tension pouring off of the man sitting next to him.

Even with all of their awkward moments in the time that they’ve known each other, this is probably the longest they’ve spent in each other’s company without speaking. Prompto can’t help but worry, with a rush of paranoia, that Gladiolus is still weirded out about  _ the incident. _ Which makes the fact that they’re stuck alone in a car together just great.

Prompto tries to distract himself with the music, but it’s all stuff Cor would listen to — classic rock, maybe, but not to his taste. At least when it changes to a Queen song, he knows all the lyrics from hearing it so many times as a kid, so he can bop his head along to it.

Maybe he’s imagining it, but it seems that little by little, the tension eases in the car. Maybe it’s the incomparable voice of Freddie Mercury — it’s difficult to stay in a bad mood while listening to the uptempo beat of ‘Stone Cold Crazy’. Before long, Gladiolus is drumming his hands on the wheel and some of the tension seems to ease from his shoulders.

‘Your Italian’s gettin’ better,’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto starts a little at the sound of his companion’s voice for the first time in twenty minutes.

‘You think so?’

Gladiolus gives a nod.

‘Heard you talkin’ to those students yesterday at the shop,’ he says. ‘Your accent’s better, too.’

‘Really?’ Prompto retorts with a laugh. ‘I thought that was a disaster! They didn’t have any English and they kept trying to speak to me in Norwegian until I figured out they were from the language school.’

With a snort, Gladiolus shoots him a look. For a moment, his eyes meet Prompto’s — and there’s an uncomfortable current between them that makes Prompto’s stomach jolt. Hurriedly, Prompto looks away.

‘We’re supposed to take this big test at the end of the summer,’ he says, rubbing awkwardly at his arm. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.’

‘You got this,’ Gladiolus says quietly, his eyes back on the road. ‘You’re doin’ good.’

When they lapse back into silence, it’s a little less fraught this time, Prompto thinks. He still can’t quite bring himself to meet Gladiolus’s glance again, but at least the journey doesn’t seem quite so painfully long any more.

* * *

_ ‘Eccolo! _ Prompto! You came!’

If Prompto had any remaining misgivings about showing up, they’re swept aside as Marta practically tackles him at the door, pulling him into a hug that smells like floral shampoo and alcopops.

‘What, I don’t get a welcome like that?’ Gladiolus grumbles.

‘Oh, you’re here?’ Marta replies, poking her tongue out.

She wraps Gladiolus in a hug, too, although as soon as she pulls away she reaches for the bottle of whiskey he’s brought along and inspects the label.

‘You’re sharing, right?’

Marta and her roommates live in a large apartment in an old building, right along the canal in Altissia. The place is beautiful — and spacious, although it’s hard to tell with all the guests occupying the chairs and standing around mingling.

‘Prompto, you can sit in my spot on the couch,’ Marta says, gesturing across the room. ‘Come help me in the kitchen, Gladio.’

She seems to give Gladiolus a pointed glance; slipping a hand into the small of his back, she ushers him out of the room, her head ducked towards him as she speaks too softly for Prompto to catch.

Marta’s seat on the couch is a cushy one, but it’s right at the centre of everything. Prompto’s a little timid as he moves over and perches himself into the corner seat, careful not to knock the guy sitting next to him as he goes.

‘You’re Prompto, aren’t you?’

He glances up, searching for the source of the voice. He tracks it down to a young man, roughly his age, sitting on a fold-up chair nearby. He wears his hair long on top and shaved around the back and sides; Prompto recognises him from the language school almost immediately. He’s nice — always smiling at Prompto when they pass in the hallway. The fact that he’s British is a bonus, since they share a common language.

‘Uh… Cole, right?’ he says.

Cole nods.

‘You know Marta?’ Prompto asks.

‘Her flatmate,’ Cole says, pointing toward a guy chatting with two girls, ‘Mattia. I’m staying with his family.’

Prompto nods thoughtfully.

‘I’m staying with Marta’s friend,’ Prompto says. ‘Small world, huh?’

‘Just a bit,’ Cole says, with a grin. ‘It’s nice to socialise with people who aren’t from the school, isn’t it? Helps pick up the language.’

Prompto can’t say he’s made great strides when it comes to socialising, or learning Italian — whatever Gladiolus might have said on the ride over — but he nods anyway.

‘You’re from England, aren’t you?’ he asks. ‘Which part?’

‘Plymouth,’ Cole says. ‘Can’t say anybody here’s heard of it, though. American? Canadian?’

‘American,’ Prompto says. ‘C’mon, you can’t hear that Missouri twang?’

Cole gives a shrug of his shoulders. He seems a little bashful as he glances away.

‘Maybe a bit,’ he replies. ‘I always thought your accent was cute.’

Prompto watches Cole lift his beer to his lips, and wonders if maybe the guy is drunker than he seems, or if he’s actually  _ flirting. _ When Prompto stops to think about it — away from Gladiolus for five minutes, without the distraction of his disastrous crush — he can admit Cole is pretty cute, too. In an  _ I don’t have a shot with you, either _ sort of way, but cute nonetheless.

‘I’m gonna put my stuff in the cooler,’ Prompto says, proffering the bag of drinks he brought. ‘Save my seat?’

‘Of course,’ Cole says.

Prompto’s a little more enthusiastic about the prospect of this party now that he’s found somebody to talk to — somebody nice and,  _ yes, _ cute. He’s grinning to himself when he slips into the kitchen, entirely forgetting that Marta had dragged Gladiolus in there earlier, so when he finds them deep in conversation he has the distinct feeling of walking into something he shouldn’t be.

‘Oh,’ he blurts. ‘Sorry, I’ll—’

‘It’s fine,’ Gladiolus says gruffly, with a wave of his hand.

He leaves hastily, and when Marta tries to stride after him, calling his name, he doesn’t stop.

‘I picked the wrong time to walk in, huh?’ Prompto mutters, leaning against the counter beside him.

Compared to the rest of the apartment, which affects the traditional Altissian style, the kitchen is all modern. There’s a huge refrigerator, too, and Marta takes the bag from Prompto’s hands and begins filling the fridge with the bottles he brought.

‘Girlfriend stuff,’ she says darkly, shaking her head. She jolts in the middle of placing a bottle into the fridge and looks at Prompto hurriedly. ‘Don’t tell him I said that.’

‘I won’t.’

Prompto flips it over in his head. Was that what the argument on the phone was about, the other day at Il Calamaio?      

‘Is he okay?’ he asks quietly.

Marta lifts her head and gives him a dark look over the door of the refrigerator.

‘It’s Gladio,’ she says. ‘If he wasn’t, he won’t tell me.’

Unconsciously, Prompto lifts a hand to his mouth and chews at his nails. It’s an old habit, and one he’s mostly grown out of; as soon as he realises what he’s doing, he drops his hand.

* * *

Cole’s not only sweet, and friendly, and adorably British — he also streams games online and has a pretty big following. After Prompto gets his channel name, they spend the next while talking about the games they each grew up playing.

It’s not so easy to forget Gladiolus, and Prompto’s aware of him on the far side of the room, where he stands talking to Marta and some of their friends. Whenever Gladiolus laughs, or whenever his deep voice resonates across the room, it’s like Prompto’s mind goes blank and he has to stop and remember what he and Cole had been talking about.

‘I’m gonna get another drink,’ Cole announces. ‘Can I get you one?’

Prompto nods.

‘Sure. Mine’s the Budweiser in the middle shelf.’

Cole isn’t gone long before his spot is filled by Marta. For the first time, Prompto gets a good look at her without distractions — she’s wearing a black dress with a flouncy tutu-style skirt, and her hair’s all pinned up elaborately. Prompto doesn’t have a crush on her, but after tonight it’s a close thing.

_ ‘So,’ _ she says, nudging his arm. ‘You and Cole…’

She’s grinning conspiratorially, and as oblivious as Prompto has a tendency to be, even  _ he _ can’t miss what Marta’s getting at.

‘What?’ he stammers. ‘No, it’s not like that — he’s cool, but—’

‘He likes you,’ she says. She chases her words with a sip of her bright yellow drink, giving him a look over the glass.

So maybe Cole  _ is _ flirting after all. And maybe Prompto isn’t sure what to do about that information.

‘I dunno,’ he says, shrugging. ‘I don’t think I’m gonna stay too much longer, anyways — the last bus back to Claustra is in an hour.’

It’s as though he personally insulted Marta’s talents as a host. She nearly sloshes her drink all over herself in her haste to protest.

‘No!’ she says. ‘You’re not leavin’ so early!’

He gets the feeling she’s not going to forgive him if he goes — but he doesn’t exactly have a choice. Calling a cab all the way out to Claustra would cost more than he has in his whole bank account.

‘Sorry,’ he says sheepishly.

‘Stay here,’ she says insistently. From her tone, Prompto doesn’t think he has a choice. ‘We got lots of room. I can find somewhere for you to sleep.’

Prompto chews his lip. He doesn’t want to put her out, but he  _ is _ having fun — especially when he’d expected to be miserable all night — and he always used to regret heading home early from parties only to hear about all the crazy stuff that happened after he left. There’s no Cor to tell him to be home for curfew, and no class or work in the morning… 

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Okay, fine. I’ll stay.’

The triumph on Marta’s face alone is almost enough to make him glad for his decision. Whatever else happens tonight,  _ she _ seems to like his presence here. He wonder if she makes  _ everybody _ feel so welcome.

_ ‘Divertiti!’ _ she says. ‘Take the, ah… the jump!’

‘The plunge?’ Prompto suggests.

‘Right!’ Marta says, nodding eagerly.

It’s difficult not to be upbeat in her presence. As she rises to her feet and moves away, still sipping from her brightly coloured drink, Prompto watches with a grin.

Cole’s on the way back from the kitchen — stopping briefly to chat to his host family’s son, Mattia — and Prompto perks up a little as his newfound companion’s eyes track the room and meet his, his lips curving into an easy smile.

Marta’s right. If Prompto  _ is _ staying here tonight, there’s nothing to say he can’t have a good time, too.

* * *

It’s funny how quickly a lightweight can go from  _ buzzed _ to  _ completely hammered. _

Prompto had thought that he was doing okay with a couple beers under his belt; when the subject of shots had come up, he had conservatively taken one, and left it at that. Soon, however, Marta’d had him sampling some cocktail of vodka and enough delicious fruity flavours over the top to drown out the taste of the alcohol, and it had all been downhill from there.

It’s probably not any surprise that he’s in the bathroom now, puking up every drink he’s downed over the past few hours.

And it had been going so well.

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and sits upright, letting his head drop against the wall behind him. The tile there is cool and pleasant, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the alcohol still surging through his system and — apparently — his brain.

A knock comes tentatively at the door, and he can barely hear it over the crashing tide that is his own pulse in his ears.

‘Go away,’ he croaks, his throat hoarse.

‘Prompto?’

It’s Marta. With a rush of guilt, he wonders how much she hates him for getting totally shitfaced at her party and making an ass of himself.

With a huff, he reaches over to the handle of the toilet and flushes it. It takes a few tries to get upright, and when he does he has to hold onto the sink for what feels like a good minute until he’s sure the movement won’t make him throw up again.

The water is cold and delicious, and he gargles it until it washes away the acrid taste of puke in the back of his throat.

‘Prompto?’ Marta says again. ‘Are you okay?’

Prompto makes one last check of himself in the mirror to make sure he didn’t miss any stains before moving to the door and opening it a crack.

She doesn’t look angry; she’s gentle as she leans her head against the frame and peers in.

‘You got sick?’

He nods.

‘Oh,  _ caro,’ _ she says, her eyebrows lifting in sympathy. ‘C’mon, you need to sleep.’

‘I can’t go out there,’ he whines. ‘Please don’t make me.’

At this she smiles, a little ruefully, and nudges the door a little more open.

‘I’ll sneak you to the bedroom, okay?’ she says gently. ‘Let’s go.’

He gets about a foot out the door before he collides with the wall beside it, giving a flat  _ ‘Ow’ _ and sliding all the way to the ground. Try as Marta might, she can’t help him to his feet, and Prompto’s legs seem to have stopped working.

_ ‘Mannaggia,’ _ she mutters. ‘Okay, I gotta get help. Stay here.’

It’s not like there’s anywhere he could go, he thinks, but he waves her off and sinks his head into his hands while he waits.

He can hear music piping in from the party. He wonders if Cole is still there, or if he headed home. Prompto wouldn’t blame him.

Heavy footfalls tell him he’s not alone any more; when he glances up, Marta’s moving down the hallway with Gladiolus close behind her.

Prompto’s stomach churns. Gladiolus is the  _ last _ person he wants to see right now.

‘He needs a little help,’ Marta says, clapping Gladiolus on the arm. ‘Come on, big man. Put these muscles to work.’

If there’s anything more humiliating than getting utterly wasted at a party, dancing like a maniac in front of a bunch of people you don’t know, and then puking in the bathroom, it’s being helped off your ass by the guy you’ve got unrequited feelings for. Prompto feels like he’s dying inside as Gladiolus heaves him upright with a muttered  _ ‘Dai’ _ under his breath.

Marta and Gladiolus speak in Accordan as they help Prompto down the hallway and he attempts not to bounce from wall to wall. He’s at least not so far gone that he can’t admire the pretty photographs lining the spaces between doors, a mixture of shots from Altissia and snaps of Marta and her friends.

‘You need my bed more than me,  _ caro,’ _ Marta says, as she twists the handle on a door and flips on the light switch. ‘I can sleep with Claudia.’

They get him to the bed, and he makes a valiant attempt at pulling his boots off, only to realise with a laugh that he has to get the buckles open.

‘Here, lemme do that,’ Gladiolus mutters, dropping to a kneel to help him.

Prompto almost makes a joke about how this isn’t how he’d hoped he’d have Gladiolus on his knees, but thankfully his better nature kicks in before he can make a total fool of himself. He flops back on the bed and covers his face before he can say anything else that he might regret.

Gladiolus and Marta speak softly while he lies there, and even though he can’t understand Accordan, it’s kind of soothing to listen to while the world spins around him.

‘I’m gonna take his pants off,’ Gladiolus says.

Marta makes some quip in Accordan and Gladiolus gives a retort with a grin.

‘Sleep well, Prompto,’ Marta says. ‘You got my number if you need anything.’

Once she’s gone, Gladiolus helps Prompto wriggle out of his jeans — Prompto’s embarrassed, at first, but Gladiolus is so dutiful about it that his self-consciousness soon lets up. Once they’re off, Gladiolus carefully folds them and sets them aside.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Get under the blanket.’

It’s the softest Prompto’s ever heard him speak — gentle, even.

‘You gotta help me here, Prompto,’ Gladiolus says, chuckling quietly at the mass of uncoordinated limbs that Prompto has become.

His name sounds good on Gladiolus’s lips, Prompto thinks, with a dizzying surge of  _ wanting _ that leaves him breathless.

While Gladiolus helps him under the blanket, Prompto allows himself a moment to look at Gladiolus up close for the first time. Facial hair covers the lower part of his jaw, with a light dusting of stubble around his mouth. His top lip curves into a Cupid’s bow, his mouth pursed in concentration.

It’s not the first time Prompto’s wondered what it would be like to kiss Gladiolus, but it’s the first time he’s been an inch away from doing it.

Marta said to  _ take the plunge, _ right?

‘Gladio,’ he murmurs.

Gladiolus looks up at him, one dark brow arching above his amber eyes. Prompto expects him to look annoyed, but he doesn’t — just weary.

‘Yeah?’ he says.

What would he do, if Prompto kissed him? Would he shove him away? Get mad? Hit him?

_ He’s got a girlfriend. He’s not into you. He hates you. _

Prompto swallows, hard.

‘Uh. Thanks. For this.’

Gladiolus shrugs.

‘S’nothin’,’ he replies.

He climbs off the edge of the bed and gets to his feet to move toward the door. His hand flips off the light, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment all Prompto can see is his silhouette in the doorway, where the light from the hall streams in.

‘I’ll drive you home tomorrow,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Try to sober up.’

It’s easier said than done, but Prompto nods nonetheless.

Once the door is closed, he sinks under the covers. It’s always weird sleeping in a strange bed, but Marta’s room is cosy even in the dark, and he finds it easy enough to settle into the plush pillow under his head.

The world won’t quite stop spinning, and Prompto can still hear the thud of the music from the living room at the far end of the hall, but his eyelids are so heavy that it’s all too easy to give into the darkness as it swirls around him.

* * *

He wakes at dawn, as the rising sun casts its pink glow over the room. It makes Prompto’s head pound, but he has to admit it’s pretty enough to drag him out of bed and over to the window to get a look out at the canal.

Altissia is beautiful — like nothing he’s ever seen back home. If he had his camera, and if he didn’t have the hangover from hell, he’d head out onto the streets to get some shots of the place while it’s devoid of life.

He contents himself with the view, for now, and adds  _ Altissian photo op at dawn _ to the bucket list of things he wants to do before leaving Italy.

The party’s long since died down, and the apartment is silent as he pads down the hall, trying to remember which door leads to the bathroom. Thankfully the right one is open, so he doesn’t need to worry about barging into somebody’s bedroom.

After he relieves himself, and splashes his face with some water, he finds some mouthwash by the sink and — apologising internally to whoever it belongs to — helps himself to some. He might feel, and look, like total shit, but at least the ashtray taste is somewhat gone from his mouth.

The room is a little chilly when he gets back to it, and he bundles up under the covers again. He tells himself he should get back to sleep, but even though he’s sober now the alcohol still buzzes in his system, making his ears ring, and he knows he’ll be awake for a while.

There are twinkle lights strung up artfully around the corner of the room where Marta’s bed sits; he searches around for the plug and powers them on, filling the room with their soft white glow.

She’s decorated the wall behind her bed with photographs — pictures of her, of her friends, of her family. She has a younger sister, who looks almost identical to her; her mother has the same warm smile and friendly eyes. There are a couple shots of Marta with Gladiolus, too, and as Prompto stretches up to inspect one of them grinning together, he feels a pang right in the middle of his chest.

With a sigh, he flops back onto the bed.

For a while he occupies himself on his phone. He never got the WiFi password last night, though, and he’s already racked up enough data charges on roaming to earn a sternly worded email from Cor. Without the internet, there’s not a whole lot for him to do, so he powers off the screen and crawls back under the covers, watching the sunrise while he waits for the day to begin.

He’s just nodding off when the door opens; it’s soft enough that he might have thought he imagined it if he didn’t hear the tread of a foot on the threshold.

When he rolls over, Gladiolus is in the doorway. He has a glass of water in his hand.

‘Did I wake you?’ he asks.

Prompto shakes his head.

‘I’ve been up for a little while.’

With a nod, Gladiolus steps over and places the water on the nightstand, beside an alarm clock shaped like Minnie Mouse’s head.

‘Thanks,’ Prompto murmurs, as Gladiolus turns to go.

After a few strides, Gladiolus is at the door, pulling it open. With a lurch, Prompto realises he doesn’t want him to go.

‘Wait,’ he blurts, stretching a hand out.

Gladiolus turns around. The early morning light makes his face seem gaunt, bringing out the shadows under his eyes.

‘Do you…’ Prompto says, chewing his lip.

He knows he’s probably going to regret what he’s about to say, but he figures after making a fool out of himself last night he might as well go for broke. Worse comes to worst, he can just blame the alcohol.

‘Do you hate me?’ he finishes.

‘What?’ Gladiolus retorts. ‘Why’d you say that?’

‘’Cause I was shitfaced last night,’ Prompto says.

Gladiolus’s mouth twists into a wry grin. Even now, with a pounding head, the sight of it makes Prompto’s stomach flutter.

‘Everyone liked you,’ Gladiolus says. ‘They wanted to know where you went.’

‘You didn’t tell anybody I threw up, did you?’ Prompto says hurriedly.

‘Don’t worry,’ Gladiolus replies dryly. ‘I’ll take it to the grave.’

He’s turning to go, pulling the door shut behind him, when Prompto lurches upright in the bed.

‘Wait.’

There’s a sigh, and the door opens again. This time, Gladiolus steps inside and shuts the door behind him, leaning against the inside of it.

‘What?’ he says. ‘You need somethin’?’

_ I like you. _

Prompto could blurt it all out now — sure, he’d probably never be able to look the guy in the eye again, but at least it’d be out there, and he could stop torturing himself over it.

If he doesn’t do it now, he’ll never have another chance.

‘Am I…’ he says, trailing off as he bites his lip. ‘Am I stupid for thinking I’d ever have a chance with a guy like you?’

Tentatively, he meets Gladiolus’s glance, just in time to see his eyes widening in surprise. It reminds Prompto, uncomfortably, of the look Gladiolus had worn when he walked in on him that night. Prompto tries to push the thought to the back of his mind.

‘Prompto…’

Gladiolus looks down at his feet; pushes a hand through his hair. After a long, painful pause, during which there’s time for a million regrets to rush in and assail Prompto all at once, the man moves over to the bed and perches himself carefully at the edge of it.

‘You’re drunk,’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto swallows. He’s  _ not _ — but he knows he could play it all off now, and give them both an out, no hard feelings.

He doesn’t  _ want _ to brush it off, though. He can’t keep living like this, swallowing his feelings down. He can’t keep pretending it doesn’t make his chest ache every time Gladiolus walks into the room. If he clears the air — if he gets it straight from Gladiolus’s mouth that it’s hopeless — then he can move on.

‘I’m not,’ Prompto says. ‘But… I felt like this before I was drunk. I’ve felt like this for a while.’

Gladiolus swallows, looking away; with his face in profile, the twinkle lights behind the bed catch the tips of his eyelashes as he closes his eyes.

‘I… I can’t,’ he says.

It’s said gently, but still it hits Prompto in the chest. It’s what Gladiolus isn’t saying that matters most:  _ I don’t want to. _

‘Sorry,’ Prompto whispers. ‘I’m sorry.’

He feels a lump wedge in his throat. And try as he might he can’t seem to swallow it down. He might have been all gung-ho about getting a definitive answer a few moments before, but rejection  _ hurts _ — even though he knew he’d never had a chance.

‘Prompto.’

He looks down at his hands in his lap, and tries to ignore the way Gladiolus’s voice prickles at the back of his neck even now.

When he finally drags his glance upward, Gladiolus is facing him; his hand sits near Prompto’s leg on top of the covers. He curls his fingers into the blanket for a moment, then loosens them. After a beat, he moves his hand and tentatively covers Prompto’s knee.

‘You don’t…’ Gladiolus murmurs. ‘You don’t need to say sorry.’

Prompto looks from the hand on his knee, where the warmth of it bleeds through into his skin, up to Gladiolus’s face. The intensity in his glance makes Prompto’s heart lurch, and for a moment there’s a look in his eyes that says maybe —  _ maybe —  _ Prompto has a shot after all.

Gladiolus’s hand squeezes Prompto’s leg, just as he moves a little closer. When he slips it away, moving it to Prompto’s chin instead, it feels like Prompto’s heart has stopped beating. His hand — strong and warm and sure — tilts Prompto’s face upwards, and time seems to still as he leans in, closing the distance between them until it’s only inches, and then a hair’s breadth.

His lips  _ just _ brush Prompto’s, the faintest of touches. Prompto wants  _ more, _ tries to lean in, to seek out Gladiolus’s mouth — but then he’s gone, pulling away.

‘Get some sleep,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Got a few hours before I can drive again.’

‘Okay,’ Prompto murmurs.

He’s frozen in place, unable to move until the click of the door after Gladiolus leaves seems to break the spell.

_ What just happened? _

He’s still not sure it even  _ did _ happen as he sits there and leans his head back against the wall behind him. If he were still hammered, he’d think he made the whole thing up.

But… no. The longer he sits there, the more it sinks in. Gladiolus kissed him.

_ He kissed me. _

Tentatively, Prompto touches his fingers to his lips, as though he can still feel the rasp of Gladiolus’s stubble against them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O

**Author's Note:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


End file.
